Human Behavior
by eohopeful
Summary: THE FINAL CHAPTER IS UP. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! PREBLINDED. This is my take on what leads up to Olivia's attack in her apartment. EO, naturally. First fanfic EVER, so be gentle! Disclaimer: I don't own them either.
1. Chapter 1

Today had been a good day. It was worth noting, even if it were only to herself, because it seemed, during the past three years, "good days" were few and far between. There were instances in the twenty-four hours prior to this moment when she had doubted the day's outcome would feel so upbeat and bright. But after only seven hours of interrogating a kidnapping pedophile in the box, she and Elliot had finally broken him and he had given them the location of a missing four-year old girl. Fin and Munch had been ready to verify any locations, so as soon as possible after the pervert's confession, it was confirmed over the radio that Leah Morgan was indeed safe in police custody and on her way to the hospital for examination. Everyone in the station felt the heavy burden of investigation leave their shoulders and suddenly it became easier to breathe.

Finally having a moment to herself, Olivia reflected about how things had changed—even her recent haircut symbolized a new take on life.

The exchanges between she and Elliot were becoming better. Over the years, she had become adept at hiding her heartache regarding his on-and-off relationship with Kathy, and while for _his_ sake she did feel relieved that he had a new chance with his family (or more specifically, his children), she did have to admit that the new pregnancy required her to step up the simulation of being cheerful for him. However, lately she had a glimmer of hope towards finding her own bliss. Dean had asked her out a few times, and although she only reluctantly agreed after he'd asked and been rejected twice, she'd be lying if she didn't confess that it was nice to not be so alone anymore, and to be with someone who appreciated her.

Looking up from the file that lay on his desk, Elliot asked Olivia about her plans for the evening.

Olivia shrugged and raised her eyebrows. "Uh, well, right now I'm focusing on the paperwork, but after that, I'm picking up some dry cleaning and I'll just have to take it from there. I hadn't really anticipated having the evening free. 'Figured our perp would have held out a little longer. 'Glad he proved me wrong."

Elliot did his best to smile, as he assumed her free time would involve calling Porter. He didn't know why he couldn't just be pleased for her. It's not like he wanted her to be alone and unhappy. And it wasn't as though he wasn't thrilled to be back with his own family—he was. He'd missed the everyday exchanges a parent has with a child. He couldn't be happier to be with his children again. Why, then, couldn't he gather some sort of semblance of that enthusiasm toward Kathy? He _did_ love her. But he was starting to question if the love he had toward her had changed during their years of separation; gone a different direction? Putting his best foot forward, he carried on a pretense of conversation.

"Yeah, I know what you mean." Elliot smiled and nodded in agreement. "Kath's gonna wonder who's walking through the door in time for dinner. Doesn't happen too often."

Olivia gave a polite "Mmph" and a raise of her head in concurrence as she finished typing a document on her computer.

Just then, the familiar ring of Liv's cell phone snapped her from her thoughts. The caller quickly being identified on the LCD screen, Liv answered with a cheerful, "Hey, stranger!"

It was obvious to Elliot who was calling, and if there had been any question, all doubt would have been washed away when he heard Olivia accept an invitation to dinner. He tried not to eavesdrop but curiosity got the better of him. He appeared to busy himself with his own paperwork, but his true focus was completely on her conversation.

"As a matter of fact, my schedule just opened up and I am free as a bird. Where would you like to meet?…Mmmm, that sounds delicious! I've heard wonderful things about that place but never been there. I think it's closer to the station than my apartment, so do you want to just meet me here?….Great. I just have to complete a few more files and run an errand, then I'll be ready—can you give me an hour or two?"

A few seconds of presumably listening to Dean speak, Olivia's eyes popped wide as she giggled into the phone.

"You don't say, huh? Well, we'll just see about that…."

Elliot didn't know _what_ Dean was saying to her, but it had an affect, that was for sure. Heaven help him, Olivia was beautiful. A light pink blush crept up on Olivia's cheeks as she spoke softly into the phone with a demure voice, "A girl's got to keep some element of mystery about her. Let's give it some time and maybe someday you'll find out….Yeah, me, too. I'll see you at eight."

Flipping her phone shut, she kept her eyes downward, suddenly embarrassed as she realized her coworkers might have just heard her flirting with Dean. But then her stubborn chin rose up in her own defense. Why should she care what they think? Why should she feel the slightest bit ashamed about talking to a man? She was a woman, after all. An _available_ woman. Taking an abrupt interest in her files, she put all energy into organizing and completing the DD5's.

Wrapping up the paperwork took a while, but now it was complete and although she couldn't say it was behind her (because the cases never truly left her), she left the station at an actual reasonable hour to pick up her dry cleaning.

She did have an extra pair of flattering trouser pants and blouse in her locker, but fate had been kind to her tonight as part of her dry cleaning bill included a sexy cinnamon-colored Georgette Ruffle dress. It had luxurious georgette fabric covered with sweet little polka dots for a classic look. It was sleeveless cut, with a round neck that allowed soft lace ruffles to create a sophisticated high collar neckline. A shiny band of ribbon accentuated her small waist. This dress was modest and soft, but left no doubt that she was a woman, with all the right curves.

Walking back to the station from the cleaners, she noticed a knock-off shoe store just getting ready to close. She had intended to just wear the low-heels she'd worn to work that day, but the two-toned Oxford Mary Jane pumps she saw in the window proved to be too tempting. Popping her head into the doorway, she asked if she was too late to make a purchase.

The woman sweeping the floor smiled and said, "Not if you hurry. I hadn't closed out the register yet, so you're in luck. Did you have a pair in mind?"

"I'd like to see your Mary Jane pumps that you have in the window. I wear a size 8 ½."

"Certainly. Would you prefer the black or brown?", the shopkeeper inquired.

"Brown please—it's the perfect color for a dress I'm wearing tonight."

"Wonderful! Let's see if we can find a pair to fit those beautiful feet. Please give me just a moment." And with that the woman disappeared into the back room. In just a minute, she reappeared, opening the box with a wide grin.

"We've got your size—how do they feel?" She asked as she slipped them onto Olivia's soft feet.

"Like a glove…I'll take them, and a pair of those stockings over there, please."

Finishing her transaction, the storeowner noted the weather. "Looks like our light fall draft has turned into quite the gust. Don't blow away out there."

Olivia smiled as she gathered her things. Stepping out into what had certainly turned into more than a blustery breeze, Olivia panicked as she looked at her watch. She didn't have much time to get ready. Walking as quickly as she could, she finished the two blocks to the station and was surprised to see Elliot sitting right where she'd left him.

"What are you still doing behind that desk?" Astonished at Elliot's remaining presence, Olivia tried to finger the windblown pieces of her hair back into place. "I thought you were headed home. Has everyone else already left?"

"I found a couple discrepancies with the paperwork on the Breinholt case. I'm just about done, and then I'm outta here. Munch and Fin just left, and Cap went out for some air." Elliot stood as he spoke. "What about you?"

Olivia smiled and held up her dry cleaning and shopping bags. "I'm on the countdown. Soon as I can spruce up a bit, I'll be on my way as well. I'm gonna head to the bathroom and get ready. If you're not here when I come out, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you in the morning." Elliot swallowed hard as she turned to leave. The guilt he felt at his disdain for her date was eating him alive. Sometimes he was a selfish bastard.

Without warning, he reached out and grabbed her arm lightly. Taken aback at the electricity that ran down her arm from his innocent touch, she turned to face him. He cleared his throat and smiled nervously.

"Uh, listen, Liv, I just wanted to say, uh, well, _have fun tonight_. You deserve it."

Words escaped her as their eyes connected, chocolate dancing with indigo. Her mouth felt dry and thirsty.

Stammering out the only words she could beckon, she whispered, "Thanks, El, I will. You, too. Go enjoy your family."

A quick nod of his head as his hand released her arm ended the conversation and once again she left for the ladies room. Her excitement and anticipation for this date with Dean had rapidly abandoned her and now she felt nothing but the lingering ghost of his skin upon hers. Now she wanted nothing more than to be with Elliot, even if it was in the only way she'd ever been with him—working side by side on some horrific case. As terrible as the cases were, she felt blessed to have that time with him. She wanted to call Dean and cancel. She wanted to go back out there and offer to fix those discrepancies for him, even if it meant he'd leave early and go home to the family he loved and the kind of family she believed she would never have someday. She'd do it because it would feel good doing something to make his life easier and happy. She wanted to return her 4" Mary Jane knock-offs.

Looking at her watch, however, told her that to cancel would only be cruel, as Dean was expected to arrive any moment. So, she did what she always did. She internalized any feelings she may have had that were considered inappropriate or unprofessional and did her best to look forward to a dinner and night on the town. She changed her clothes and styled her short, sexy hair. Opening her makeup bag, she began to transform herself from "Olivia-Day" into "Olivia-Night".

Meanwhile, Elliot was still recovering from the intensity he'd felt from her stare. From the way he felt her pulse accelerate under his fingers or the way her chest had heaved from her quickening breaths. Or was it from the way he must have imagined those things? From the way that _he_ longed for his presence, his touch, to have that sort of reaction in _her_? A voice brought him out of his analyzing thoughts.

"Detective Stabler, working hard as always, I see." Dean Porter sauntered over to Olivia's desk and sat down in her chair. Elliot's first impulse was to pull him out of the place where Elliot felt he definitely did _not_ belong. Proud of his self-control, however, instead he simply leaned onto his own desk and matched Dean's smug smile with his own.

"Looks I've fooled you, just like the rest of the bunch around here," he joked good-naturedly.

"Have you seen Olivia around? I'm supposed to meet her here—actually, I was supposed to be here five minutes ago. Hopefully she didn't give up on me _that_ quickly," Dean said, trying to lighten the air.

"I think she's actually getting ready. Have a cup of coffee while you wait. I'm sure she'll be out in a minute."

"Talking about me behind my back, boys?" a voice teased from the hallway. Olivia got no response from either man as she stepped towards them. Dean and Elliot were both too amazed as they took in her appearance. She was brilliant. Stunning. Breathtaking.


	2. Chapter 2

"_**Talking about me behind my back, boys?" a voice teased from the hallway. Olivia got no response from either man as she stepped towards them. Dean and Elliot were both too amazed as they took in her appearance. She was brilliant. Stunning. Breathtaking. **_

_Breathtaking_ was unquestionably the accurate word, because Elliot now felt as though someone had literally stolen the air from around him. It started with her feet as his eyes trailed upward. Up the length of her toned legs. From the hem of her dress, which hit just above her delicate knees, as it curved around her slim thighs and hips—_her_ _**hips**_—coming in towards her waist, where he imagined his hands would sit perfectly, wrapping his fingers around it as he pulled her closer to him. Then his hands would slide up her ribcage, where he'd feel her breathing in and out. Breathing. He'd _watch_ her breathe. He'd watch her mouth open slightly as the air left her body. He could see where the subtle ruffle of the collar began at the top of her breasts. He followed the trail of ruffle as it led to her graceful neck. The neck upon which he'd like to plant kisses along its elegant length. He could see her bronze shoulders practically shimmer against the red-brown fabric. The color of which only deepened the wells of coffee in her eyes.

It was seeing her eyes when it finally dawned on him that _she_ was looking at _him_, too. Their eyes connected, just as before when he had touched her arm. Burned her with his contact. As their gaze strengthened, her glossy lips parted, obviously trying to think of something to say.

Fortunately, Dean saved them both, though awkwardly. "Uh, well, I guess we should get going—try to make our reservation. Olivia, do you have everything you need?"

Shattering her attention back to her date for the evening, Olivia graciously smiled and nodded her head.

"Perfect—let's get going then. It's pretty windy out, so why don't we take a cab?" As Olivia placed her brown wrap around her shoulders, Dean guided her to the door. Turning his head back to Elliot, Dean gestured his goodbye with a short wave. "See you around, Detective."

The hours that followed were pleasant, but nothing extraordinary. Their meal did not disappoint and dessert was delectable. The rest of Olivia's date had gone just as expected, just as it should have. That was the problem. It was during dinner that the light bulb came on inside Olivia's head. She felt like her dates were scripted—and this one felt no different than the hundred other dates she'd been on over the years.

They were all the same:

"Reservations for two"

After being escorted to their table, her date or the maitre d' would then respectfully pull her chair out from the table for her to sit.

"Wine?"

"Yes, please"

"Would you like to hear our specials for the evening, Madame?"

"Yes, please"

"Would the lady care for freshly ground pepper?"

"Yes, please"

Could this tedium end any time soon? Yes, _please_.

It wasn't Dean—_he_ wasn't the dilemma, not directly anyway. In fact, he had been the perfect gentleman. It was the polite conversation, the mundane routine of it all. She finally realized that the problem lay in the fact that if Oregon had taught her anything, it was that she now needed something more than what she'd been given all this time. She didn't want _polite conversation_. She didn't want _formality_. She wanted someone with whom she immediately felt at ease—like coming home. Someone that made her feel as though a movie in sweatpants with a couple beers was enough—more than enough. Someone that read her thoughts before she could speak them. Someone whose steps were in synch with her own. Someone with whom polite conversation was unnecessary; where silence was comfortable. There was only one person like that, and the way he had looked at her at the station had sent goosebumps all over her body. He'd looked at her with…what? She hesitated putting a name to it, but there was no denying the heat in his eyes. He'd looked at her with longing. Desire. Doubt filled her mind. No, he couldn't possibly. He must have just been surprised at her appearance. That's it…it was surprise in his eyes. He simply wasn't used to her dressing up like that.

Unconvincingly, Olivia told herself that she could settle. Dean was a wonderful man, and had an advantage in the fact that he was familiar with her line of work. She didn't have to explain to him, unlike the others, about her career. He wasn't turned off by the job, nor did he inquire too curiously into the cases she protected so fiercely. Dean also appreciated Olivia and respected her. And he certainly wasn't unattractive. In fact, she found him very good-looking. Not to mention the important detail that he'd trusted her detective instinct on more than one occasion was also to his credit. Why shouldn't she give him a chance?

Because deep down, she knew that no matter how much time she spent with Dean, she would never connect with him on any level like she had with Elliot. What she had with Elliot was something that she feared could never be duplicated, which meant she'd never let another man in like she had her partner. How unfortunate that the one person she trusted unconditionally, the one person she desired, would never be obtainable to make her own. Could she learn to settle for second best when her first choice was not even a possibility?

Dean's voice took her from her thoughts. "Olivia?"

Olivia looked at Dean's face, his brow furrowed and his head turned towards her. It was a look of concern and perhaps a bit of confusion. The wind had calmed during dinner, and now they were walking through a random art gallery they'd spotted near the restaurant. Its latest show was entitled "Mother & Child: Reproductive Works of Mary Cassatt".

"I'm sorry. What did you say?" Olivia asked self-consciously.

"I asked if you were feeling alright. You've been so quiet all night." Dean halted their slow-paced stroll in the gallery and placed his hand on her elbow. It flashed a memory in her of the moment Elliot grabbed her arm at the One-Six.

Dean continued his query. "Is anything wrong? Working on a tough case?"

"Oh, um, no, Dean. I apologize—it seems my mind is everywhere these days. I hope you haven't felt neglected."

"No, I'm just concerned. I mean, you're here, but you're not really…_here_. I guess I feel like I'm getting mixed signals."

Olivia looked at him with bewilderment. He cleared his throat as he attempted to clarify.

"What I mean to say is, earlier today on the phone you seemed, well, 'eager' to be with me tonight and now I'm wondering if you'd rather not gone out. Are you sure everything is okay? Have I done or said anything to upset you?"

Olivia felt a spasm of guilt for her conduct towards Dean. She'd been in her own head most of the night, giving only the required responses or essential conversation. He was trying so hard, perhaps too hard. Maybe it was time to throw the poor guy a bone.

"No, of course you haven't done anything wrong." She smiled softly at him. "You've been nothing but wonderful to me and I want you to know that all day I'd looked forward to seeing you tonight. You've shown me a fabulous evening and treated me better than I've deserved. I guess I've just had a lot on my mind and I'm sorry that I wasn't more in the moment. Trust me when I say I sincerely appreciate tonight and have enjoyed being with you. I'm sorry I gave you a different impression."

Trying to change the subject, Olivia turned to the painting that hung on the wall. What she saw struck a chord deep within her soul.

"Wow, take a look at this piece," she said, intrigued. "It's captivating, don't you think? Look at the mother's adoration for her baby. You can see it in her eyes."

Dean leaned in for a closer look at the title plaque. "Hmmm…'Breakfast in Bed'. Now that's the way to live life, lounging in bed, taking late mornings." Then he stepped forward to the next portrait on display.

But to Olivia it was more than that. She couldn't help but linger at the artwork and wonder how youthful the mother appeared to be, her cheeks rosy from a restful night's sleep in a warm bed. How the mother's arms wrapped protectively around the small child with golden curls. She imagined the child padding into its mother's bedroom at an early hour, tugging on her nightgown sleeve, pulling the young mother from deep slumber. Olivia imagined the mother _not_ getting irritated at her sleep's disruption, but instead, inviting the beautiful child into the clean white bedding, enveloping it into her arms, where they would cozy up to each other for the next hour before beginning their day. It was easy for Olivia to play these images in her mind, because it was what she'd always imagined her own childhood relationship with her mother _could_ have been like. She couldn't help but note that had Elliot been the one with her, he would have remained with her, rather than moving on so quickly to the next piece. He'd intuitively know that Olivia wasn't simply seeing an artist's impression, but rather a portrait of missed opportunities in her own life.

They completed their tour of the gallery and as the moon drew higher in the night sky, Dean walked Olivia through the door of her building and up to her apartment. Halfway there, they passed Olivia's neighbor, Andrea. Andrea was a nice enough girl, moving to the big city from Kingston, a small town up north. Olivia's first impression was that Andrea looked adolescent and naïve, although her looks were misleading, as Olivia later found out she was twenty-two. Olivia had assumed she was fresh out of high school. Perhaps it was because of her petite frame, freckled face and long red hair that made her look younger. The two women never spoke much—just in passing.

Andrea was carrying some sort of black box. As the space between them diminished, Olivia could see that it had a microphone attached to the box with a long cord.

"Hi, Olivia!" Andrea said, her face animated and affable. She paused on the stair to catch her breath. "I've seen you with your gentleman friend before, haven't I? Back from a night on the town?"

"Something like that." Seeing that Andrea was curious about Dean, Olivia politely introduced them.

"Andrea, this is Dean Porter. Dean, this is Andrea. She lives three doors down from me."

"Nice to meet you," said Dean. "Whatcha got there—do you need any help?"

"Oh, this? No, I'm fine, thank you. It's a karaoke machine." Andrea smiled excitedly. "I just bought it last night. I'm taking it over to my friend's apartment in Soho for a small party. I just love karaoke and my friends all make fun of me! So tonight I'm putting them to the test! There should be beer there, so I'm hoping after throwing back a couple the others will be willing to give this puppy a try. And I've got my camera phone to ensure digital proof is made!"

Stunned by her astounding energy and enthusiasm for karaoke, Dean just returned the smile and wished her a good time. Then he and Olivia continued their way up the next set of stairs.

At her door, Olivia had her keys ready. Turning back to Dean after unlocking her door, she was surprised to find him uncomfortably close. Gently placing her hands on his chest, she nervously put some space between them.

"Well, I had a fantastic time tonight, Dean. Thank you."

The disappointment in his face was evident as he politely accepted her end to their evening. He took her hands into his and lifted them up as he kissed them both tenderly.

"You're certainly welcome. But I feel as though _I_ should be thanking _you_. When can we go out again?"

She'd dreaded this moment for hours. Ever since she realized a relationship with Dean could never go beyond friendship. The feelings just weren't there, and although she would never have the kind of relationship she wanted with Elliot, it wasn't fair to Dean or any other man to pretend she could have it with them.

She withdrew her hands from his and placed one gently on his cheek.

"I don't think so, Porter. Now is not the best time for me to have a relationship."

The use of his last name stung and he knew she was pushing him further away. He raised an eyebrow as he replied: "It's not a good time for _any_ relationship or a relationship with _me_?"

"I'm not good for anybody right now. I'm still working on building one with Simon and his family. I'm adjusting to changes that have taken place at work. I feel like my plate is full right now."

"You don't mean your plate. You mean your heart," Dean said bluntly.

"What do you mean by that?" Olivia asked puzzled.

Dean gave a kind smile. "What I mean, _Detective_ Benson, is that I don't think you have room in your heart for more than one man, and that one man in particular that has filled it for some time now."

Staggered by his revelation, Olivia didn't know what to say. She wanted to be angry with Dean. Yell at him to mind his own business; that he had no idea what he was talking about.

Instead, all she could do was squeeze his shoulder in a forthcoming gesture and say, "Good night, Dean. I hope we can meet up for coffee sometime. You're a good friend."

He shrugged and gave a plaintive smile as he walked away. "I hope so, Liv. I'll be seeing you. Good night."

She watched him walk towards the stairs a moment before letting herself into her apartment. Locking the door behind her and throwing the keys on the counter, she poured water into the kettle and set it on the stove to warm. Then she headed towards her bedroom, where she stripped out of the Mary Jane pumps that had once held so much promise. Changing into a pair of red yoga pants and t-shirt, she heard the kettle announce its heat.

After letting the tea steep for several minutes, she added a teaspoon of honey and then settled herself on the corner of the couch while a Billie Holliday CD lulled her into relaxation. Before long, her mug sat empty on the coffee table, and Olivia's head lay on the couch cushion, drifting her into what she hoped would be a sleep similar to what Mary Cassatt's "mother" would have experienced.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the generous reviews—I'm a little nervous to continue as**

**I truly do not want to disappoint, but feel so ill qualified. Let me know how I'm doing!**

**P.S. I am not Catholic. A fact, which I am painfully aware, will be very obvious. Please don't be offended if **

**I have mistaken any of the rituals or traditions I know a person of Catholic faith must hold sacred. I spent a couple hours **

**trying to obtain accurate research over the Internet. Hopefully the way I have demonstrated Elliot's faith in **

**the story has been done in a way you find respectful and not done too incorrectly. Please forgive any glaring mistakes!**

He'd left the precinct about an hour after she did. So much for getting home early. Oh, well—at least he wasn't getting home as late as he'd been in the past. It wasn't the paperwork that had delayed his exit. He'd long finished what was necessary for his day to legitimately be over. He just couldn't bring himself to step across his family's trusting threshold still thinking about his partner. Thinking about her in a very _un-_partner-like manner. So he typed, organized, and filed any paperwork he could get his hands on, stalling the moment when he'd have to face his family—no, face his _wife_, knowing he'd rather she be anything but.

The drive to Queens was loud, at least in his head. Too many questions floating around causing gray havoc in his black and white Catholic world. "Why was she looking at me like that? Like a thick layer of 'need' and longing that is masking so much pain?" or "Is it possible that I am imagining all of this felt between us?" and finally "Am I being unfaithful to Kathy by my impure thoughts toward my best friend?"

It was the last question, the one overflowing with culpability and self-loathing, but also more candor than he'd allowed himself in a long time, that prompted him to turn left when he should have gone straight. Eight blocks from his home he found himself parallel parking in front of St. Ann's stone façade. Braving the wind and bounding up the steps in two's, Elliot pulled on the tall wooden doors and walked to the confessional booth.

Kneeling at the screen, Elliot opened his mouth to address his family priest on the other side. However, his loss for words prompted the understanding clergyman to initiate the conversation.

"I am listening, child. Take your time."

Making the sign of the cross, Elliot recited, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. My last confession was over a year ago."

Elliot paused, hesitating to admit to anyone the wrongs he felt he'd done. Deciding he was here and might as well continue, he said, "Father, I have transgressed against God and my family."

"In what way, Elliot?"

Elliot struggled to translate his thoughts into the appropriate wording. He felt indebted to Father Bennion. He had known Elliot since before he was an altar boy and had always demonstrated immense patience with the members of his parish. Elliot often wondered if he required more patience from the silver-haired priest than others. It was through Father Bennion that he and Kathy first began counseling at their separation's beginning. Even though Elliot came away feeling he was incapable of changing to the kind of father and husband he needed to be, it had meant a great deal to him that Father Bennion had never given up on him.

At Elliot's prolonged silence, Father Bennion tried to help him start. He prompted Elliot, saying, "Often a helpful pattern for examination of conscience is to review the Commandments of God. Why don't we start with the small transgressions?"

This gave Elliot a window through which he felt he could begin, and once he started it was as though he could not stop. The recent faults of his life came flashing forward and he felt he had to shed himself of them once and for all. "I have neglected prayer. I have been impatient and angry. I have taken the name of God in vain. I have been prideful and jealous. I have coveted that which I will never have…and I have…entertained impure thoughts about…"

"About who, my child? Someone to whom you are not married?"

Elliot swallowed, but it felt nearly impossible as his tongue felt like sandpaper. He did his best to answer the man honestly. He owed him that much.

"Yes, someone besides Kathy. Someone _besides_ my _wife_." Elliot paused, expecting harsh condemnation. However, when Father Bennion remained silent, his lack of censure gave Elliot the encouragement he needed to continue. "But, Father, I want you to understand that although I know it does not justify it, it is not just sexual. I mean, of course I find Ol—_her_—attractive, it is not just sexual thoughts that distract my mind."

"You care about…'this woman'. You care deeply."

Elliot sighed at the father's perception. "Yes, I think you could say that. I do care deeply. I wish to God I didn't, but I can't _not_ care. She means too much. Please believe me when I say I have tried. To the point of trying to shut her out emotionally in my life, but I keep failing."

"Have you tried removing yourself from the opportunity to be tempted by her?"

"I can't, Father. Heaven forgive me, but I can't leave her. It's not just for myself, but also for her. I think she needs me, too. And even if I separate us, I don't think it would help because she was gone for a while and when she was away from me, she still consumed my thoughts. Actually, even more so at that time than any other." Elliot felt the tears staining his cheeks, but he didn't care. "I can't do it anymore. I want to not care so much, but I am so flawed and I just can't fail anymore. It is destroying me. I think it may even be destroying her, too."

"Have you ever acted upon your desires?"

"No!" Elliot was appalled that he would even ask, but then reminded himself that adulterous activities begin with adulterous thoughts, so of course that would have been the aging priest's next logical question. "I have never, never touched or spoken to this woman inappropriately. I would never be unfaithful to Kathy with her."

Uncomfortably, he was reminded of his one unfaithful mistake: Dani.

An extensive silence followed. So long, in fact, that Elliot had to face the lattice again just to make sure he wasn't alone.

"Father, I—"

"Elliot, don't." Father Bennion's gentle, but direct, interruption startled Elliot and closed his words instantly.

"Please let me continue."

"I'm sorry, Father."

"What I was going to say was that you have been coming to me for your confessions for many years now. Probably thirty years, I'd say. And while your confessions haven't been as frequent as they ought to have been, I have learned that when you do come, you are earnest in your repentance. However, tonight I have received a completely different impression from your admissions."

Elliot was quick to amend any misunderstanding. "Please, I _am_ sincere. I am truly sorrowful for these and all the sins of my past life."

"Elliot, Elliot, you do not need to reassure me. I have no doubt you are genuine in your regret. You misinterpreted me. What I was trying to tell you is that I have never seen you so grieved or distressed in your lament. I am concerned right now more with _you_ than your sin." Father Bennion stopped, as if gathering his thoughts. "How long have you experienced these feelings toward her?"

Elliot was thoughtful for a moment and then said honestly, "I think a lot longer than I realized. Or at least a lot longer than I'd like to admit." Pinching the bridge of his nose, he fought off the throbbing headache that threatened to come on.

Father Bennion sighed as he continued, "I feel fairly confident that I know the woman of whom you speak. It is your partner, isn't it? The one that came to Elizabeth's First Communion so many years ago."

A bemused Elliot responded, "Yes."

"And the same one that joined your family for Midnight Mass a few Christmases later. What is her name?"

"Olivia. How did you know it was her?"

A light chuckle escaped from the good father's throat. "I've seen the two of you in the same room, Elliot. I may be a priest, but I'm not blind." Elliot was taken back at the priest's joke. Was he that obvious? And then Father Bennion asked the very question Elliot was asking himself:

"Does Kathy know?"

_Ring_. _Ring_.

Before Elliot could answer the high-pitched sound of his cell phone rudely interrupted the conversation. Elliot looked at the caller ID.

Speak of the devil. Elliot had to get out of there. He couldn't let Kathy know he'd been to see Father Bennion—she'd be suspicious and never let it go. Quickly, he mumbled an "Excuse me, Father, I have to answer this."

As Father Bennion began to protest, Elliot flipped open the phone, talking to Kathy as he left the booth, walked passed the pews and out the door.

"Hi, Kath…Yeah, yeah, I'm actually almost home…. Oh, you know, just had to finish a few files before I could duck out of there, but give me just a sec and I'll be in the driveway. I'm just a couple blocks away…. Okay, see you soon….What?…..Oh, yeah, I love you, too."

Getting into his car, he dropped his head to the steering wheel, grasping for any part of him that could help disguise the anguish he was feeling. For the first time in a long time, he closed his eyes and spoke to the One person he felt could possibly help him. Perhaps it should have been the first person he'd gone to, but that moment had long passed and it was too late for more regrets. Praying to a God he wasn't even sure he had faith in anymore, he begged for forgiveness. Then he begged that his suffering could be eased. That he could find happiness. That _she_ could find happiness. And that by some _**miracle**_, the battle that raged in his soul, caused by his feelings for Olivia and his feelings of obligation to his family, could come to some sort of peace.

As he ended his muttered prayer, he grabbed a napkin from the passenger seat, probably from one of his many meals "to go", and dried his eyes. Starting the ignition, he pushed in on the brake and put the car into "drive". Then he went where he knew he was needed most at the moment. He went home.


	4. Chapter 4

"_Good Saturday morning, Big Apple! You're listening to WAXQ, 104.3, Your Classic Rock station, and we've made it halfway into the six o'clock hour. You just heard 'Born in the U.S.A.' by the one and only Boss, Bruce Springsteen. If that won't get you out of bed, nothing will…"_

Flinging her arm across her clock radio, Olivia fumbled for the button that would save her from the offensive sleep interference. Cursing herself for neglecting to turn off her alarm the night before her day off, she rolled over to her side and tried to return to the land of Nod. It only took moments for her to realize that the effort was pointless, as sounds of traffic and sirens came from below, penetrating her ears. Throwing back the covers, she staggered tiredly into the bathroom. Washing last night's make-up from her face she tried to recall at which point she'd moved from the couch to the bedroom. The only thing she remembered was how chilly her feet were and how good it felt to toast them underneath the down comforter in bed.

Most mornings she didn't have time for a breakfast that was more than half a bagel or yogurt, so a leisurely morning like this called for two boiled eggs with juice. The only roadblock to that fantasy was how pathetically empty her refrigerator was. The only eggs her fridge was sporting these days had an expiration date from nearly a month before and the juice carton was two swallows away from empty.

Olivia sighed. She felt like her home resembled that of a twenty-something bachelor more than that of a thirty-something career woman. Settling for a filling meal of "nothing", she hopped into the shower with plans of hitting the bodega on the corner to restock her kitchen with the essentials.

As usual, her plans for herself didn't last long. Just as she was toweling off she could hear her cell phone ringing from her purse. Crossing her fingers it was a wrong number, she threw on her robe and raced to the kitchen counter.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, Sunshine. I'm relieved that you sound as though you were already up?"

Olivia's brows furrowed. Hearing Munch's voice this early in the morning could only mean one thing.

"You got lucky this time, John," Olivia teased. "So…I take it you're not just giving me a wake-up call?"

"Hmm…very perceptive." Suddenly the niceties were over—Olivia heard a drop in his voice as he became deadly serious. "We've got a vic down here—"

"Wait a sec…I thought you and Fin were catchin' last night. Where's Fin?"

"He's here, but we thought you might be able to help us out. We're just west of Lafayette and Houston."

Olivia paused as the address was absorbed. "Lafayette and Houston? But John, that's—"

"—Just three blocks from you, I know," John read her mind. "Figured since this one's so close to home you'd wanna give us your input. Feel like gracing us with your presence?"

"Let me get ready and I'll be right there."

"Thanks. See you soon."

Leaving her apartment building 15 minutes later, Olivia practically jogged down Houston. In the far west distance she could see the collection of cars parked in front of Schank's Deli Meats—mostly emergency vehicles, but the one that caught her eye first was the coroner's car.

"Shit," thought Olivia. Naturally, she'd been hoping for a live victim. In fact, she thought that was one of the reasons John had called her. Many times female vics will only talk to a female cop. She just assumed someone had requested her presence because the _living_ victim needed to speak with a different detective.

A small alleyway separated Schank's Deli Meats from a twenty-four hour copy store. Judging from the level of activity near the alley entrance, Olivia flashed her badge to the uniform standing guard and stepped under the yellow tape into the crime scene. It was a narrow alley, no more than ten feet wide. Just enough room for some small trashcans and storage for the adjacent businesses. The back of the alley was a dead-end, blocked off by an old wooden fence. On her left she could see a few planks of wood leaned up against the concrete copy store building. On her right, she spotted Munch giving instructions to a couple of uni's searching the area around the backdoor of the brick deli. Fin was at the rear, near the wooden fence, talking to Melinda Warner over a covered body. The body screen was open to expose the victim's left arm. The two saw Olivia approaching and greeted her silently.

Fin gave a small smile and said, "Hey, thanks for coming."

"No problem," Olivia offered. "I heard sirens this morning, but you know this city—you never know where they're headed. Had I known I would have been here earlier." She scanned the body screen and bruised arm. "What have we got?"

Warner pulled the screen away from the victim's face while she spoke. "Fin tells me they're still searching for ID, but as of right now, 'Jane Doe' looks to be in her late teens, maybe early twenties. Raped and murdered. Cause of death still under investigation, but I'd say we're pretty safe in guessing asphyxiation, judging by the marking on her neck." Fin watched Melinda, listening intently. Warner indicated with her fingers a faint mark in the shape of a line mid-neck. Without looking up she continued, "She was most likely strangled by a long, narrow object. We'll know more as the markings darken over the next couple hours. Whatever it was, I'd bet it was made out of wood. Looks like she's got small slivers in her skin near the contusion. Our girl's a fighter, too. Before you arrived I was showing Detective Tutuola that I could see skin under the fingernails."

Turning to continue her assessment to the detectives, Melinda could no longer see Olivia. "Where'd she go?"

"Huh?…What?" Fin finally looked up also, surprised to see Olivia had stepped away with her back turned. She had her hands up to her mouth and was shaking her head, obviously upset.

"Olivia—" Fin jumped up and stepped towards her. Indicating to Warner to give them a moment, he touched Olivia's shoulder with concern to turn her pale face towards him. Fin asked, "Olivia, what's wrong? Are you gonna be sick?"

Keeping her hands on her face, Olivia shook her head an affirmative 'no'. "I—I _know_ her. She lives in my building."

"Ah, man, I'm so sorry. Did you know her well?"

"No. Not very. We spoke at the mailboxes, in the hallway, that sort of thing."

"Olivia, look at me. Do you know her name?"

She nodded her head and tried to open her eyes. "Her name is Andrea. I don't remember her last name, but I'm sure it's on the directory of my building." A sob choked in her throat. "God, I just saw her last night. _Just_. _last. night_." Tears rolled down her cheek. She was battling to regain her composure.

Fin grabbed her shoulders and helped her sit down against the brick wall. "Here, hon, it's okay. Let's just take a breather." Knowing Olivia would not want anyone to see her this way, he left to give her some privacy.

Calling Munch and Melinda over, he relayed the information she had given him. A few minutes later, Olivia joined them and the look on her face told them that she had regrouped. She was now focused and more than ready to catch the bastard who'd done this to Andrea.

Munch addressed Melinda, "Any idea how long she's been gone?"

"Judging from the cool temperatures and level of rigor mortis I'd say at least five hours, maybe more. I'll give you a better estimate once I take her back to the lab." With that, the doctor turned back to her team, giving them instructions on preparing the body for transportation.

"Five hours," Munch considered. "That puts us at about two or three o'clock this morning. Wonder what she was doing out at that hour."

The group was silent for not even a moment when Olivia stepped in. "I spoke to Andrea last night on my way home. She was headed out for some party in Soho. Said she'd just bought a karaoke machine and was going to take pictures of her friends making fools of themselves."

"We didn't find a camera on her—perp must have stolen it," Fin offered.

"She was using her cell phone camera. Did you find her phone?"

"Nah, not yet anyways. If the perp stole her wallet, he probably took the phone, too."

Munch's face lit up as he declared, clapping Fin on the back, "Don't sound so glum, partner. True, we'd like to have the phone for the photos, but if our guy _does_ have the phone and is stupid enough to use it…"

Olivia and Fin knew exactly where Munch was going with this and they all headed out to follow their potential lead.

"I'll go back to my building, start interviewing the neighbors," Olivia presented.

"We'll go report to the Captain and touch base later," Fin said over his shoulder to her as he opened the sedan door.


	5. Chapter 5

Hours later, Olivia met up with Munch and Fin at the One-Six to recap. Lake had been on the phone with the Kingston PD for a good 40 minutes and had just hung up when Olivia stepped off the elevator.

"How does someone that young, working at a music store part-time, afford an apartment in that location without a roommate?" Pointing at Andrea Millecam's driver's license picture that had placed on the board, Don Cragen posed the question that had been eating at him from the start.

Detective Lake offered the answer. "According to the local Kingston authorities who notified her parents, 'Daddy' paid the rent so Andrea could 'focus on graduate school'."

Cragen continued leading his unit in the discussion. "Did we get any other helpful information from Mom and Dad?"

"We did—probably what we needed most to get a quick start. We now have Andrea's cell phone number. We're tracking it to see if any calls _have_ been made or _will_ be made by the perp. We tried dialing the number, but all we get is voicemail. Phone records will also be checked to see what Andrea's last incoming/outgoing calls were."

The Captain nodded his approval and moved on. "Olivia, what did you find out from your neighbors?"

"Andrea moved in only five months ago, so her relationships with anyone in the building were either non-existent or similar to mine. The one exception is Myrna Gallegos, who lives in 6A. She went on vacation this summer for two weeks and asked Andrea to water her plants. One of her plants died and Andrea, feeling responsible, replaced it. So, other than confirming the thought that Andrea was pretty much an upstanding citizen, Mrs. Gallegos didn't tell me anything too helpful."

"John, anything from the employees of the deli and copy store?"

Detective Munch answered him, saying, "Fin, Chester and I interviewed all but four, two of which have confirmed alibis."

"How do you know they have alibis without interviewing them?" Cragen asked.

"One is still in the hospital after having a baby Thursday morning and the other left Monday for vacation in California. We confirmed their departure with the airline's flight manifest as well as check-in at the hotel where a co-worker told us they'd be staying."

"What about the other two employees you have yet to interview?" Cragen pushed.

"We couldn't reach them before. We figured we'd give it another shot this evening."

Continuing, Cragen asked how the search had gone in Andrea's apartment.

Olivia sat down in her chair as she told her captain that it didn't turn up anything out of the ordinary. Certainly not anything that appeared to offer any clues or information. She did find out, however, that Andrea had two cats that were more than happy to eat the cans of food Olivia had sought out and opened for them.

At that moment, an all-too familiar scent hit Olivia and her other senses were put on high alert. She felt that Elliot was close by and her suspicions confirmed when she heard his voice come from behind. Judging by the sound of it, he was only a foot or two away. Recalling the revelations and decisions she'd made the night before while out with Dean, Olivia was paralyzed. Not trusting her ability yet to turn and look him in the eye, she fumbled around in her drawer, pretending to look for something.

Addressing his captain, Elliot quipped, "This better be good if you need all your detectives pulled in on a weekend."

"It is," Cap assured him. "A woman from Olivia's building was raped and murdered early this morning just a few blocks from home." The direct transformation in Elliot's demeanor did not go unnoticed—the furrowing of the brow, the glance down at an evading partner, the clenched jaw, the way he folded his arms as if closing himself off from any emotion other than getting the job done.

"We share your feelings on this, Elliot. I want this one solved _yesterday_." Don was protective of all his detectives, but even more so towards Benson. It wasn't as though he didn't think she could take care of herself. Hell, he'd have hated to be on the kicking end like that woman-beater Thatcher had been! But that didn't change the fact that she was a woman that in _his_ view had come into his care and he wasn't about to let anything happen to her on his watch.

Fin interrupted the meeting. "Cap'n! We just got word that Andrea's cell phone was used in Chinatown."

As if a switch had been flipped, Cragen began barking orders: "Fin, Lake, chase that lead. Stabler, Munch will fill you in as you follow behind in case they need back-up. Let's not forget this guy raped and murdered a woman this morning."

Olivia began to object. "But Cap, don't you think I should—"

"No, I don't. I think you are emotionally involved and need to stand down until he is brought into custody." The other detectives waited to hear what the final word would be.

"With all due respect, I disagree," Olivia defended.

"And with all due respect, _Detective,_ I don't care whether you agree or not. I've made my decision." Waving his hand at the four men, he dismissed them for their assignments.

Olivia slumped in her chair, defeated and angry.

Turning on the rotating beacons, both response cars peeled out onto the street, rushing to the location where the cell phone's signal had been used. With New York City traffic living up to its reputation, it wasn't long before weaving in and out of cars separated the two teams. Fin sped ahead while Elliot slammed on his horn alerting vehicles to get out of his way. Communicating to each other via radios, Lake notified John and Elliot of their arrival at the location.

"We're here. It's an elementary school of all places. We're headed inside. 10-06."

Now waiting for a moving truck to maneuver it's way out of the street, Elliot squawked an audible warning to the driver with the siren. Frustrated, Elliot hit the dash with his palm and growled, "How does anyone get anywhere in this city?"

John raised an eyebrow. "The smart ones don't drive—they walk or take the subway."

Static rattled on the radio. Soon Lake's voice sounded. "Some of the kids are in the cafeteria, half are in class, and a few are on the playground."

Munch replied into the black apparatus, "Any sign of our guy or the phone?"

"Negative. We'll dial the cell and let you know what happens."

Minutes of silence felt like hours. Soon John couldn't take it any longer.

"Lake, what's happening?"

No answer.

"Detective Tutuola, do you read me? 10-04. 10-04."

Suddenly, Lake's voice was heard again. "10-06, I repeat, 10-06. Standby."

At last Elliot pulled up to the address, which surprised him. The plaque on the building said P.S. 130. They could see the second response vehicle but the other detectives were MIA.

Soon Lake could be heard again. "You guys aren't going to believe this. We found the phone."

Impatiently, Munch barked into the radio as he exited the car, "Yeah, so, where are you?"

This time Fin's voice came across. "At the playground on the North side of the building. We're bringing him to the front office. Meet us there."

Running through the double doors, Elliot and John slowed considerably once they could see Fin and Lake guiding a husky boy forward. The look on the boy's face was one of panic.

"That can't be our rapist," Elliot said under his breath. "He isn't more than nine or ten."

Back at the precinct, Cragen popped his head out of his office to call in Olivia.

"What is it, Cap?"

"Fin just called from an elementary school. They heard the phone ring when they dialed its number. A kid on the playground answered. His name is Ben Wu and he is in fifth grade. Apparently he was on his way to school when he found the phone on the sidewalk only four blocks from the crime scene."

"Sounds believable."

"I agree, but I think we need to interview his family and a few friends first, just to rule out the possibility that he's not lying and really found the phone at home."

Just as Andrea had said she would, she'd taken some photographs on her phone that night. After Computer Crimes had downloaded them all, the squad studied the enlargements on the board. There were six pictures dated the night before. Five of them showed four different people singing karaoke. One of the four had his picture taken twice during his serenade. His face showed up a third time in the sixth picture, only this time he wasn't singing. He was sitting on a couch, winking. He looked to be about six feet tall, on the lean side. His dark hair was beginning to look overgrown and needed a trim. Wearing an NYU t-shirt and jeans, the mystery man sat back on the couch, giving a thumb's up. The other hand sported a beer.

"Obviously, Andrea had a concentration on this guy. There's more pictures of him than anyone else," Elliot observed.

"Yeah, but who is he? And who are the other people in the photos?" Lake wondered.

"That's exactly what I want you to find out," Cragen stated. "Greg and Sidney Millecam are staying at the Carlton on Madison Ave. Chester and Fin, take these photos when you pay them a visit. See if they recognize any of these kids as friends of their daughter. Specifically, Mr. NYU."

"Got it, Cap. You can count on us," Lake stepped forward.

Cragen raised his eyebrow and turned towards the seasoned detectives behind him, who rolled their eyes. What was with this Eager Beaver? Humoring his newest detective, the Captain patronized, "Uh, good to know, detective. Now head out."

Time spent with Andrea's parents proved fruitful. They did not know who Mr. NYU was, nor did they know two others. But they did recognize one of the karaoke singers as one of Andrea's good friends they'd met the last time they were in the city. Her name was Lauryn and she worked at a restaurant Andrea had taken them to: Alicia's.

After returning from their meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Millecam, Chester and Fin presented their findings to everyone else.

Olivia contributed, "Alicia's—nice place. East side Manhattan. I think it's on 58th between second and third avenue."

Elliot grabbed his coat and then tossed Olivia's over to her. "Let's get going then—maybe we can request Lauryn as our server."

"Only if you're buying, Stabler. Wait 'til you see the menu," Olivia smiled at him.

Walking into the warmly lit foyer at Alicia's, Elliot and Olivia noticed that the dinner crowd was beginning to gather. Standing in such close quarters, Olivia felt Elliot's hand brush against hers on accident. Whether it was by mistake or not, however, a wave of goosebumps spread over her body and she shivered. As a couple left the restaurant, they bumped into Olivia, which again knocked her hand and arm into Elliot's. This time, the goosebumps did not reappear. The cold, hard metal of his wedding band pressed against the back of her hand for a millisecond in the innocent contact and it was enough to diminish the touch's affect.

The delicious smells wafting from the kitchen struck them as that they had not eaten anything since a box of donuts had been brought into the station that morning. Waiting for the couple in front of them to finish speaking to the restaurant host, Elliot's stomach growled loudly.

"Remind me we need to stop for a hot dog on the way back," Elliot complained.

"You and your stomach…" Olivia rolled her eyes. Although she couldn't blame him. She was beginning to feel famished as well.

"This place looks pretty classy. Ever eaten here before?" Elliot asked.

"Once on a date, but it was a couple years ago."

Clearing his throat, Elliot attempted indifference as he unbuttoned his coat, "I meant to ask you, how was your date last night?"

Saved by the maitre'd, Olivia ignored Elliot's question and instead looked straight ahead at the mean behind the pulpit.

Approaching the podium, the maitre'd looked at Elliot, smiled proudly, and commented, "Welcome to Alicia's." Then, eyeing Olivia, he continued. "Sir, may I say you made an excellent choice for your beautiful companion tonight. What is the name on the reservation?"

Olivia smiled within, curious to see just how Elliot was going to respond to such an assumption. His wit was sharp as ever as he held up his badge and said, "Try looking under 'Detective'. Party of two."

Quickly, the man cleared his throat as he quietly chastised Elliot. "Sir, there is no need for sarcasm. Please put away your identification and let me know what I can do for you."

Olivia stepped in, holding up the picture from Andrea's phone. Noting the man's nametag, she addressed him, saying, "Richard, we're looking for an employee. Her name is Lauryn."

"Lauryn is serving customers right now. May I deliver a message to her on your behalf?" the haughty man offered.

"Sure," Elliot was quickly getting annoyed. "Why don't you tell her that it's time for her break and that we will wait for her outside?"

Sensing that he was working on Elliot's last nerve, Richard only nodded, grunting an "Excuse me, please" as he turned to find Lauryn.

A few minutes later, an inquisitive blonde stepped from within the restaurant door.

"Are you the officers that needed to see me?" she asked.

"Lauryn, I'm Detective Benson and this is Detective Stabler. We're with the Manhattan Special Victims Unit. We need to ask you a few questions about the party you attended last night."

"How did you know I had a party?" Lauryn asked, dumbfounded.

"We saw a picture Andrea Millecam took of you with her cell phone singing karaoke," Olivia answered.

"Andrea's phone? Why was she showing you her phone? I don't understand. Were my neighbors complaining?"

Placing her hand upon Lauryn's shoulder in sympathy, Olivia broke the bad news. "Lauryn, I'm sorry to tell you this, but Andrea is gone. Her body was found this morning."

Gasping, her eyes wide with shock, Lauryn looked back and forth frantically between the two detectives, hoping to see some sign of misunderstanding. "What? How can that be? I was with her until very late last night and then she was going straight home. Are you sure that it's her? Maybe you've made a mistake."

"No, Lauryn. I'm so sorry. Andrea's parents identified the body."

The detectives gave Lauryn a moment to take in the upsetting information she'd just received.

"Do you need to sit down?" Elliot asked compassionately. He guided Lauryn over to a bench at the edge of the sidewalk.

"Thank you," she whispered, then paused. "I just can't believe it. Lauryn is my best friend—er, _was_ my best friend. How can she be gone?"

Wiping her tears, she asked Elliot, "What happened to her? Where was she found?"

Elliot answered the grieving girl's questions. "We believe she was murdered. She was found a few blocks from home. May we ask you some questions about the party now or do you need a few minutes?"

"No, I'm okay. I want to help. It wasn't really a party—just a bunch of us getting together at my apartment. What do you need to know?"

Olivia showed her the picture of Mr. NYU. "Do you recognize this man?"

Lauryn took the photo from Olivia's hands. "Yes, of course. He came with Andrea. His name is Tim. Last night was the first time I'd met him. Seemed nice enough, but not my type."

"Why's that?" asked Olivia.

"Well, I don't mean to sound snobby, but he was just kind of…I don't know, pushy. Even though Andrea had brought him, she was rejecting his advances all night. At first I think she was kind of interested in him, even flirting with him, but then he was just coming on too strong. One of those that can't take a hint, ya know? I think Tim thought his perseverance made him charming, when really it just made him seem desperate. To be honest, I was surprised to see him with Andrea in the first place. But she said he was just a nice guy she'd met when she stopped to make copies of song lyrics on her way over."

Elliot and Olivia exchanged knowing looks but let Lauryn continue. "She said she got talking to him over the copy machine and he'd told her how he's sick of hanging out with his pet fish every night. So she invited him to come along." Lauryn paused to give a melancholy chuckle. "That was just like Andrea. Taking in all the strays."

"Did Tim and Andrea leave together?"

"Oh, no. Andrea was the last to leave. Even after everyone else had left she hung out and helped clean up until about 1:30."

"Do you know how she planned on getting home? Did she call a cab?"

"No, not that I'm aware of. I asked her if she wanted to crash on my couch, but she said she'd rather just go home. I said okay and went into the bathroom. While I was in there I heard her say "Good Night" and when I came out she was gone. I noticed she'd forgotten her karaoke machine, so I popped my head into the hallway to catch her. When I saw I was too late, I went to bed, figuring I'd see her later this week anyway."

"Do you remember when Tim made his departure?" Elliot probed.

"I didn't look at the clock, so I can't say for sure. But he was gone long before Andrea—said something about getting up early to browse the classifieds for a new job."

Olivia was confused. "I thought you said he worked at the copy store."

"No, I said she _met_ him at the copy store. I don't know where he worked, but wherever it is it sounded like he had plans of quitting." Lauryn sighed. "Look, I'm not sure what you are needing to know, but if there's nothing else, I think I'd like to go now."

"Are you sure you are up to working tonight?" Olivia asked, concerned about Lauryn's emotional state.

"Not really. I think I'm going to talk to my manager and see if he'll let me go home."

"Sounds like a good idea. Before we let you go, we'd like your complete information in case we need to reach you again, okay?" Elliot handed her a notepad and pen.

Lauryn jotted down her contact information. "Sure. I'm more than happy to help. Andrea was a good friend—I want to know who did this. Do you think it was Tim?"

"We don't know," Olivia answered honestly. "But you can bet we'll be looking into it."

"Well, for what it's worth," Lauryn shrugged her shoulders, "I don't think he did it. I mean, he was over-ambitious and all, but he seemed to handle her rejections with humor and he was long gone before she left my apartment." Lauryn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The detectives watched a tear escape down her face. When she opened her eyes she apologized for her display of emotion. "I'm sorry. It just seems so unreal."

Standing from the bench, Lauryn wrapped her arms around herself and walked back into the restaurant.

Stopping at a coffee shop on the drive back to the station, Elliot and Olivia each grabbed a cup of coffee and a scone to fill their empty stomachs.

"Well, this is another healthy meal, courtesy of the job," Elliot grumbled.

"Yeah, the hours we work don't offer a lot of nutritional content," Olivia agreed.

Taking a bite of her scone while Elliot drove, Olivia thought about the case.

"So where do we go from here? We know his name is Tim and that they met at a copy store. Any chance it was the copy store next to the alley?"

Elliot agreed that it was too convenient not to be. "It can't be just coincidence. I say we go to the copy store and wave his picture around. Someone had to have seen him before. Maybe he purchased copies and we can check his receipt."

"Sounds good to me," Olivia said as she swallowed a mouthful of food. "Let's go."

Pulling up to the gray building labeled Carbon Copies, Elliot and Olivia were happy to see that a patrol car was still around to protect the crime scene. Waving their hellos to the uniformed officer on duty, they entered the copy store.

A young man named Jason stood behind the counter. Elliot and Olivia noticed the three of them were the only ones in the storefront.

"Are you always this busy?" Elliot asked, showing Jason his badge.

"Well, officer—"

"Detective."

"Well, detective, you can imagine all the unpleasantness next door hasn't exactly been good for business. Customers think twice about entering a business that has yellow 'CRIME SCENE: DO NOT ENTER' tape attached to it's building."

"Yeah, I bet. We want to take that tape down as much as you do, but we can't until we know more about what happened there. Then you can get back to business as usual. In fact, we 're here because we were hoping you might be able to help us do that sooner than later." Elliot showed him the picture of Tim on the couch. "Have you ever seen the man in this photograph before? Maybe as a customer?"

Jason raised his eyebrows and stared at the detectives in disbelief. "Yeah, I've seen him before, but not as a customer. That's Tim. Tim Blackner. Up until last week he used to work here."

"Used to?" Olivia tilted her head in question.

"Yeah. You'd have to talk to my manager if you want all the details, but I'm guessing it was because he was so bizarre around some of the customers. We got a lot of complaints."

Elliot stepped forward. "Complaints about what?"

"Several women complained that he was overly-friendly. Overly-helpful. Almost to the point of harassing the customers. He would invade their personal space by standing too closely. Sometimes he'd come onto them or in the very least make comments about their clothing or appearance. He never really touched them in appropriately, but one gal did claim that he tucked her hair behind her ears and it made her very uncomfortable. I know Steve, my boss, spoke to Tim about his behavior on at least one occasion, but once I heard he'd been fired I assumed it was because he hadn't learned his lesson. I think Steve was afraid of losing business because of Tim's lack of social skills."

Handing the photo back to Elliot, Jason asked, "Why are you looking for him anyway? Do you think he's involved with what happened out back?"

"At this point he's just a person of interest. We need to know where to find Tim. Do you have any of his personal information, such as last name, address, phone number?"

Jason looked uneasy. "Uh, I'm not sure I'm allowed to give you that information."

Olivia stepped closer to the counter. "I understand your hesitation, Jason, but this information is critical for our case. So either you get it for us, or we'll be forced to take legal action and get a warrant."

Jason weighed his options and decided drawing more negative attention to the store was not something his manager would want. Giving in, he decided to head into the back room for Tim's info.

While he was gone, Elliot and Olivia digested this new information.

"Tim's gotta be our guy. He's just to weird not to be," Olivia shuddered.

"Not to mention the crime took place near his place of work after he attends a party with our victim. It's all falling into place," Elliot granted.

"Our only problem now is proving he was here at the time the crime took place. After all, he was fired last week. Any defense attorney worth their salt is going to argue that just because he _formally_ worked near the crime scene here doesn't mean he committed the crime. It's all circumstantial. We need to find him and get DNA."

Minutes later, Jason returned with a sheet of paper for the detectives.

Olivia took it gratefully, exchanging Jason's paper with her card. She spoke to him as she and Elliot turned to leave. "Jason, it's very important that you let us know if he comes back to the store, okay?"

"Sure, but I doubt he will. Since he picked up his paycheck last night, there wouldn't be any reason for him too return."

Both detectives stopped in their tracks and looked at one another. Then Elliot looked at Jason. "You mean Tim Blackner was here…_last_ night?"


	6. Chapter 6

Back at the station, Elliot and Olivia found Lake explaining his recent visit to Warner's lab. Feeling the long hours catch up with him, Munch rubbed his eyes while he listened. Fin was in the crib, trying to cram eight hours worth of sleep into forty minutes.

"The doc got a closer look at some of those slivers embedded in Andrea's neck. They're wood all right, and look to be painted yellow. I just got back from the crime scene—thought one more look might help. I didn't find anything, but I did talk to the manager at Schank's deli. He claims that the _yellow_ broom they usually kept in the covered doorway out back is missing. That's _gotta_ be our murder weapon."

Cragen sat on his desk corner and praised Lake's findings. "Great work, Chester." Then Cragen turned to his two best detectives. "You guys have been gone a while. Hope you have something to show for it. We're all too damn tired for you not to have."

"Don't worry. You're gonna _love_ this." Olivia explained to them what they'd learned at Carbon Copies. "According to a Carbon Copies employee, Tim Blackner was there at least twice in the past twenty-four hours. First he was there around 10:30 p.m. to pick up his paycheck. The Carbon Copies employee we spoke to, Jason, who got off work at 10:00, saw Tim come in as he was leaving."

Elliot interjected their theory. "This was most likely when he would have met Andrea, since Olivia spoke to her at the apartment building just after ten o'clock when Andrea was leaving for the party in Soho."

Hearing her cell phone, Olivia checked the caller I.D. Seeing that it was Simon, she silenced the ring, noting that she'd need to call him back later.

"So he meets Andrea while picking up his check, she takes pity on him and invites him to go with her. What do we have that places him there _again_ at the time of death?" Munch thought out loud.

"Jason had already gone home, but today when he got to work he heard a story about Tim _returning_ to Carbon Copies around quarter to one this morning claiming an error had been made on his check. We spoke to the employee that was on duty at that time. Her name is Hannah Westover and she says Tim was hostile, demanding to speak to the manager. Hannah said he was irrational because he knew very well that the only person that could remedy the payroll mistake did not work nights. Tim said he wasn't leaving until he was given what was due to him and sat down on the floor. Hannah figured if she ignored him he would give up and leave, but he stayed there for nearly half an hour. When she told him to come back after 9:00 in the morning he was very antagonistic. Hannah threatened to call the police and Tim left."

This time Fin theorized. "Tim leaves the building but not the premises. He runs into Andrea who is on her way home."

Surprised eyes turned towards Fin's direction. "Sleeping Beauty awakens," Munch mocked. "Nice of you to join us."

"How _can_ I sleep with you all yakking away so loud?" Fin grumpily replied. "'Sides, couldn't sleep anyway. Not with some psycho out there killin' in Liv's neighborhood."

Cragen put an end to the babble. "Now, Tim's angry about his job _and_ his social life and wants to take it out on someone. He feels she led him on by inviting him to the party, but then rejecting him, so he confronts her. Things get out of hand, he takes her back into the alley. He rapes her then strangles her with the most convenient weapon—the broom. Then he takes her purse and phone to make it seem like a robbery, dumping the phone in Chinatown." He paused thoughtfully, debating their next move.

"It's good enough for me," he decided, standing. "I'll call Novak and fill her in. In the meantime, you head over to Blackner's apartment—the arrest warrant will be waiting for you when you get there."

The arrest for Blackner didn't go well. It was plain by the disarray in his apartment that he'd left quickly, without plans of returning any time soon. Even his fishbowl was empty. Further investigation into his bank account showed record of the remaining $174.38 being withdrawn. The account was closed and his credit cards cancelled. There were no known relatives and his neighbors called him a loner, keeping to himself, hardly ever saying a word to anyone. The only record NYU had of him was from a year ago when he'd dropped out of school.

Deciding the only leads were his apartment and the crime scene, a stakeout was set to take place. Fin and Lake would cover Carbon Copies and Elliot and Olivia would keep an eye on Blackner's place. Cragen sent Munch home so at least one of his detectives would be well-rested on the morrow.

Sitting in the sedan with Elliot, with the lights turned off as to not draw attention to themselves, Olivia was grateful for the excuse exhaustion gave them to avoid having an actual conversation. Deciding they would take turns sleeping, Elliot let Olivia recline her seat and close her eyes while he took the first watch. Although he wasn't sure what he needed to do more, watch Blackner's apartment or watch Olivia. They so rarely made eye contact these days. Hell, they didn't look in each other's _direction_ without having an obvious reason first. He thought back to their nine-year relationship. Since we did friends need a reason? Then the answer struck him: since they had become more than friends. At least subconsciously. The tension between them was palpable, but as much as they wanted to label that tension "anger" or "resentment", deep down they both knew those labels were nothing more than masking it's true identity. If they were brave enough to dig down to the core of the problem, they'd admit that the tension was founded on _need_. Sexual need. Emotional need. A raw dependency upon each other that went far beyond anything casual or lustful. And it was _how far_ their feelings went beyond those things that scared them from admitting their feelings or for once having an honest conversation with each other.

Hearing her breathing come to an even rhythm, Elliot watched her ribcage expand with each breath. Her left arm lay across her flat stomach, rising and falling in cadence. The other arm extended up to her face where the hand rested near her cheek. Her skin seemed flawless and he couldn't help but notice how peaceful she looked when she slept. He wondered if she'd lay still and peaceful like that in his arms after making love. At once, self-aware and embarrassed by what he'd envisioned, he returned his focus back to the apartment building across the street. Blackner's windows remained dark and lifeless. And an hour later nothing had changed.

A sudden chill must have come over her because Olivia's raised arm dropped down as she hugged her arms in her sleep. Rolling to her side, she tried to curl in, attempting to warm herself with her body heat. Elliot had the urge to help her, protect her. Give her the warmth that she needed. Turning up the heated air, he also removed his jacket and laid it across her body. As he did so, her eyes fluttered open and he looked to see her staring at him. Frozen in place, his hands still grasped the jacket's hem. The enchantment was broken as she blinked and gave a sheepish smile.

"Uh, you seemed cold, so I…" Elliot tried to explain as she sat up.

"Oh, well, um…thanks." Olivia stammered as she flexed her hands in front of the heat vents. "I think it did get a little cool. I feel warmer now. Thank you. I'm sorry."

Handing Elliot's jacket back to him, their hands touched in the exchange and again it sent shockwaves through her body.

"Don't be sorry," he said, taking the jacket and laying it the backseat.

"Anything from Blackner?" Olivia gestured out the window.

"No—I don't think he plans on coming back here, but what else do we do? Sit at the station? Right now he's our only lead, and a good one at that. We might as well keep an eye on things, just in case."

"Well, it's my turn to be on the lookout. Why don't you try to sleep for an hour?"

"You don't have to ask me twice." And with that he reclined his seat, grabbing his jacket back and bunching it up for a pillow.

Not five minutes had gone by when Elliot's cell phone rang. Groaning his protest, Elliot reached into his pocket and saw the caller ID.

"Hello?…Hi, Kathy. Everything okay?…"

Olivia took a deep interest in watching for Tim, trying to appear as though she was not listening to Elliot's private conversation.

"…Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, I know you wanted me there…Well, what did the teachers say?…Yeah…Mmhmm…Oh, that's good. Good for her…I wish I could have been there…I can't right now, but hopefully in a couple hours…Well, presently we're watching this guy's apartment hoping he'll get desparate and come home…"

His voice becoming softer as he turned his body away from her, Olivia could hear him whisper, "Of course she is. She _is_ my partner…When is this going to stop?…I _will not_ talk about this now. I'll call you later."

Closing his phone, he looked at Olivia out of the corner of his eye and tried to pretend that last thirty seconds of the phone call did not take place. Lying back down in the seat, he closed his eyes and tried to drift off, but had to settle on just resting his eyes.

Hearing Olivia open her purse, he interpreted the sounds coming from her side of the car to be a bottle of lotion being opened and squirted. As she rubbed her hands together, the scent of the cream made its way to him. It was familiar to him. She'd been using the same lotion for several years now and he could never smell it without thinking of her. Once, while he was still separated from Kathy, he ran across it in the mall when he was doing some Christmas shopping. He'd recognized it all the way from the main corridor. He'd felt like an idiot walking into that girly store—and it was as girly as they come—but he'd gone in anyway, determined to finally know the name of her signature lotion. Lying to the sales clerk that he was looking for his daughter's favorite lotion, he described it to her. Right away the clerk knew what he wanted and brought a bottle to him: Japanese Cherry Blossoms. Holding the bottle in his hand he considered buying it, just so he could take it home and smell Olivia. The absurdity of the moment hit him and he'd chickened out, apologizing to the clerk because he had changed his mind, deciding he'd wait to purchase it for his daughter. There were nights that scent haunted him in his sleep. It was light, yet mysterious. He found the blend of cherry and vanilla quietly seductive. And now here it was full force, filling his senses and forcing him to swallow back his fantasies before he made a fool of himself with her in the car.

Knowing that he couldn't fake it any longer, he sat and adjusted his seat upright.

Olivia watched him give up on sleeping with apprehension. "I'm sorry," she said. "Was I being too loud?"

"No, I've never really been able to sleep during these stakeouts. I don't know why I bother trying."

Olivia snorted a laugh. "Are you on crack, Stabler? I've been on enough stakeouts with you sawing logs to know that's a bold-face lie!" Olivia gently punched him in the arm, calling him on his fib.

Elliot feigned innocence. "Well, that's the pot calling the kettle black! _**I**_ saw logs? You put power tools to shame, my friend."

"You're in deep now! Don't you know you're breaking the cardinal rule of partnership? You're not ever supposed to admit that your partner snores—especially when you're partner is a woman."

"Oh, don't get too upset. You're nothing compared to Kathy with a cold."

Both detectives chuckled until the moment had passed. Then it was awkward silence. It always was when Kathy's name came up.

Finally, Olivia summoned the courage to ask, "Does she still feel so insecure about our partnership? I mean, I guess after nine years, I thought that…"

"Yeah, I'd have thought so, too. Actually, I think deep down she knows she doesn't need to worry, but this pregnancy has been the worst when it comes to her hormones fluctuating. I've got to be patient, though. I know it's much worse on her than on me."

"How's she doing, anyway? How's the baby?"

"She's having a baby when her first baby is old enough to be. I think she's excited about a second chance, but worried about how different things will be."

Elliot paused. When Olivia didn't respond, he said, "We had a sonogram last week, you know." Olivia nodded. "It's a girl," he said flatly.

"Hoping for a boy?" Olivia smiled kindly.

Elliot shrugged, "Eh, Dickie would have liked a brother and I'd have liked another son, but I consider myself lucky to have three girls, and will be even luckier to have four. At this point, I'm just hoping for healthy."

"Does the doctor anticipate any problems?"

"We haven't done any in-depth testing, but so far things seem normal. That's good, I guess. Just keep trying to focus on the positive."

"That's exactly what you should be doing, El." Olivia placed her hand on his compassionately. "Don't dwell on the could-be's. Just focus on how great your other kids turned out. If this kid's anything like them—"

"What was that?!" Elliot interrupted, leaning forward in his seat.

"What was what? Where? Where are you looking?" Olivia looked up at Blackner's apartment. It was still dark and showed no sign of movement.

"Over there, in the doorway of the building next door. I thought I saw someone standing in it." Elliot turned on his lights and rotated the wheel as he slowly moved forward. The car rolled forward, turning so that the lights would shine on the area of which he'd thought he'd seen Tim.

Nothing. Just concrete steps leading up to a door framed in white moulding.

Frustrated and confused, Elliot squinted his eyes at the darkness. "I swear I saw someone move in that doorway."

"Let's go check it out on foot." Olivia suggested.

Elliot put the car into park as Olivia radioed to Cragen their suspicions. He responded, advising them to be careful and to notify him soon.

Stepping out onto the quiet street, where only the occasional car drove by at this hour, Olivia and Elliot walked cautiously with their guns ready, pointed downward. Shielding herself behind a parked car, Olivia motioned to Elliot to move towards to the doorway in question.

Pressing himself against the building, Elliot was precise and specific in his movements. Nearing the doorway, he took a deep breath. Effortlessly swinging himself around to face the doorway, his arm held his gun out in front of him, ready to face any would-be assailant. Empty. And the door locked. It appeared to be an office building, so only someone with a key could get in.

Considering they'd been out there for hours with no sign of Blackner at either the alley or apartment, Cragen called them all back in. While he waited for them to arrive, Don located the owner of the office building. After learning the offices were empty and only the owner had a key, and that he lived in Florida, the possibility of his assisting Tim in any way was dismissed.

Four weary detectives entered the precinct and were relieved to be discharged for a few hours to go home and sleep.

"There's nothing more we can do tonight. Besides, you all look like crap—I want you to go home. _Home_. And don't let me see any of your ugly mugs before ten a.m. Not a minute later," he commanded.

Turning off his computer, Elliot offered Olivia a ride home. She'd been awake for nearly twenty hours now on what had been an especially difficult and personal case. She was exhausted and the last thing she wanted to do was walk home. Not to mention she would enjoy another five minutes with Elliot. It was incredibly tempting. However, as she reflected on what she'd heard between Elliot and Kathy earlier tonight, her instinct told her it was not a good idea.

Elliot could see her inner conflict in her eyes, as they turned dark with thought.

"Thanks, but…I think I'll just walk. It's just a few blocks."

"Just a few blocks? I think it's a bit farther than that. And you're going to walk it at this hour?"

Olivia sighed, "I don't know, Elliot. I might walk, I might get a cab. I'm not sure at this point. But I think it would just cause problems for you if you take me home." She pulled her purse onto her shoulder and turned to leave.

"Liv, hold on," Elliot whispered as he quickly grabbed the strap of her purse. "You need to understand something."

She looked at him with expectant eyes. The way she'd given him her complete attention caught him off guard and he momentarily forgot his words. "What goes on between me and Kathy…I mean, I can handle it."

Seeing that he had not chosen the best phrasing by the expression on her face, he tried again. "I mean, Kathy really isn't as threatened by you as you may think. It's just the hormones. And she trusts me. You are my partner and I've got your back. I'm not comfortable with you walking home alone when you're this tired."

"What's that supposed to mean? That I need a babysitter? A bodyguard?" Olivia pulled away from him defensively. She knew she was just worn-out and holding his concern over his head, but it hurt too much to let him worry about her.

"You know I don't mean it that way. I just mean that your reflexes are tired and home is not 'just a few blocks'." Rolling his eyes in exasperation, he tried once more, "C'mon. I'll drop you off on my way."

Sticking to her guns, Olivia proudly but gratefully opposed his plea. "I appreciate the offer, El, but it's not that far. I've walked it after longer days and it's really not that big of a deal. If I decide I'm too tired, I'll grab a cab. Besides, I want to pick up some groceries on the way first."

"You're getting groceries at this hour?"

"Elliot, these are the hours we work. I'm used to it. Besides I've got nothing at home. I at least want to pick up some stuff for breakfast."

Patting his arm with finality, Olivia stepped onto the elevator. As the doors closed, she pushed the button to hold them open for an irritated Elliot. "Are you going down or are you going to stand there all night feeling irritated at me?"

Peeved at her snappy remark, he brushed past her and pushed the button for the first floor. As the elevator lowered itself, it was obvious he was unhappy with her. "You are so stubborn sometimes. Why don't you let people help take care of you, Liv? Why can't you let me take care of you?"

"I don't need someone to take care of me, El, especially you. I learned that a long time ago." She knew she was lying. And she also knew _he_ knew it, too. But it didn't matter. They hadn't spoken the truth in their partnership for a very long time, so why start now? She ended the lie with, "I'm just fine by myself. So don't worry about me anymore, okay?"

Grabbing her by the shoulders roughly, Elliot clenched his teeth. "I can't, Olivia. I can't _not_ worry about you. I can't _not_ care about you!"

Seeing the whites of her eyes and the nervous expression on her face, he let go of her shoulders as his head slumped in defeat.

_Ding_.

Shaken and pierced by his outburst of honesty, Olivia stared up at the elevator ceiling. Humbly and with tears in her eyes she whispered, "Then you have to _learn_ how to not care so much, Elliot. Or we'll never survive this partnership."

The elevator doors opened and she stepped out. Away from Elliot, away from his honesty.


	7. Chapter 7  THE ATTACK

Twenty minutes later Olivia was a lone customer in the over-stocked bodega located around the corner from her apartment. Filling a grocery basket on her arm with bananas, canned soup, eggs, and yogurt, she reached for a half-gallon of milk. Still reeling from Elliot's outburst in the elevator, she leaned her head briefly against the cool glass door of the dairy case. She used to feel like their years together had taught her how to read him inside and out, but ever since she got back from Oregon she'd found he'd changed in ways. At first his changes had thrown her, but after time she granted them to him without resentment, knowing she'd changed, too. But now he was often unpredictable and that unnerved her, to say the least. His explosion stirred within her a flood of emotions. Hearing him say that he cares for her, well, of course it caused her to feel light on her feet. Almost like an out of body experience. It ignited a fire in her core. But she also knew it was dangerous. Gitano had taught them that. And that made Olivia angry. Irate that he dared to admit that to her, when present circumstances forbade her from receiving his admission in no other way than professionally. How did he expect her to do that? How does one process unprofessional feelings _professionally_? Didn't he know what kind of position it put her in when he blasted her like that? Leaving it to _her_ self-control, hers _alone_, to reign in both of their ardor, their _addiction_ towards each other. She didn't know how much longer she'd have the strength to carry the burden of restraint for both of them.

Walking from the refrigerated section toward the front of the bodega to check-out, an aisle caught her eye. The plastic sign posted at the top of the shelves identified the aisle as "Family Planning". Neatly lined rows of assorted pregnancy tests assaulted her. It was as though they were mocking her lonely errand to collect $10 worth of groceries. An errand done in the middle of the night. A task completed in order to fill just _one_ shelf of her pitiful fridge that was part of her empty apartment. An apartment in which she more often _visited_ than _lived_.

She thought of Kathy and imagined what it must have felt like for her to walk into a store similar to this one, seeking out this very aisle, disrupting the neat, identical rows of pregnancy tests by removing one with the intent of purchasing it and taking it home. That was one errand Olivia feared she would never have the opportunity to run.

She knew Elliot had warmed up to the idea of another baby. It hadn't taken him long. But there were comments he would make here and there, expressions he would have, especially right after a phone call with his wife, that made Olivia wonder if he still hadn't warmed up to the idea of being back with Kathy. The first time this thought crossed Olivia's mind she felt unreasonable. He'd wanted to reunite with Kathy and the kids for so long during the separation that it was hard for Olivia to dream him feeling otherwise. But truly, the vibe Olivia was getting from him lately was that if it weren't for the baby, he wouldn't be there. But that was as far as her speculating went. She never let herself question _where_ Elliot would be if he _wasn't_ with Kathy. She never let herself go there, because she knew she couldn't endure finding out she was wrong.

Again moving towards the register, she heard the bells jingle above the entrance door. Turning to see who else would be shopping in the wee morning hours, she was puzzled at the vacant doorway.

Catching the eye of the cashier, he read her mind and answered her perplexity. "He just left."

Raising an eyebrow, Olivia said, "Who just left? I'm the only one here."

"No, you weren't. There was another shopper—well, vagrant. I figured by the looks of him, he ain't gonna buy nothin'. 'Figured he was just comin' in to get warm for a few minutes. And I was right. He didn't buy nothin'. Just stood by the magazine rack for a bit and then left when I started watchin' him more."

"Odd," Olivia thought to herself. "I never heard him come in." Instead of vocalizing her thoughts, she just nodded in understanding as she placed her items on the counter for payment.

As she walked the block home, the chill of the night air began to seep into her bones. Quickening her pace, she continued to think about her partnership. She'd already felt obsessed, that it controlled her every thought. But after the unfolding words spoken at the station, she only felt more gripped by it all. Preoccupied by her problem, her normally sharp instincts were dulled and she never even noticed the shadow that pursued her from a short distance. It was methodic and dedicated. It _would_ get what was it was due.

Opening the door to her building, Olivia groaned at the flights of stairs that lay before her. After her mother died, she needed a change. Deciding to move, she found a great apartment, within walking distance of work and for a reasonable price, but it had a major flaw: it was six flights up. Being considerably older, the structure housed no elevator. That was okay. She'd had enough of elevators tonight, anyway. Grudgingly, she began the trek upwards, pulling her purse higher up on her shoulder. She gripped the paper bag of groceries with one hand and the railing with the other.

Inserting her key into the lock and turning the deadbolt free, she immediately felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand at attention. Unfortunately with the clumsy bag of groceries occupying one arm, and her free hand fumbling with the keys she simply was not fast enough to reach the sig that still rested in the holster on her hip. The threat was already there, his hands pushing her through the door of her apartment, violently, with purpose. Olivia fell forward, dropping the bag of groceries as she tried to catch herself with her hands. Her purse slipped off her shoulder when she pushed her chest off the ground. She was seething with rage—at herself for the slow reflexes and allowing this jerk to catch her off-guard, and even angrier at him for invading her personal space with such force. Quickly she tried to reach for her gun, only to find that the holster was empty. The power of the fall must have caused it to drop out, but where? Desperately, her eyes scanned the floor but in vain.

He took advantage of her fall to the ground while he removed the keys from the lock and slammed the door. Just as he bent down to reach for her arm, she used all the strength she had in her abdominals to twist her body to the right, her elbow making contact with his right cheek. He turned away from her and groaned in pain as he tried to stand up straight. Recognizing her assailant as Tim Blackner, who looked ragged and dirty, Liv turned and tried to grab his arms to pin them behind his back, but the blow to his head had only proven to add to his adrenaline. Instead, he flung his arms forward, taking her with them. With her in front of him now he was able to grab her wrists in his strong hands. She felt as though he was crushing her bones. She was amazed at his strength, considering how thin he'd appeared in Andrea's pictures.

Together they wrestled awkwardly, pushing each other different directions as their arms and legs twisted, each attempting to disable the other further. Olivia couldn't help but be grateful that she'd apparently forgotten to turn off a table lamp the last time she'd been here, as now it provided the only light in the room that otherwise would have been pitch black, making her defense even weaker than it was now.

As they stumbled across the room towards the coat closet, and feeling as though she may be overcoming him, she spat out, "How did you know where I live?" Breathless in the skirmish, she gasped to continue, "We don't have to do fight like this, Tim. You don't have to do to me what you did to Andrea."

She could hear his reaction in his gut. A low growling noise. He seethed, "Shut up, you ignorant bitch! You have no idea what you're talking about. It wasn't what you think!"

"Then tell me," Olivia grunted, trying to pull his hand out of its grasp on her hair. "Uuuuuuggghhhhh! Let go!" Trying to wrap her leg around his, he twisted forward, pulling her hair and body with him. "Tim, let's-uuuggghhh!—stop this and you can calmly explain yourself. You know you're assaulting a cop, don't dig your hole any deeper than it is already."

"Yeah, as if you're going to pour me a cup of tea and actually listen to what I have to say. You'll listen, but only under _my_ conditions!" Olivia felt a concentrated throbbing as he ripped a handful of hair from her skull.

Now more spiteful than ever, she masked her hurting and retorted, "What's the matter, Tim? Don't have your broom stick handy, so you have to resort to tricks from the playground?"

That smart remark didn't urge any kind of verbal reply from him…just a swift kick of his left leg behind her right, causing her leg to buckle and drop her to the floor. On the way down, her head slammed the corner of the wall and for a brief second her eyes alternated between bright flashes of light and thick darkness. Disoriented, she loosened her hold on his only remaining arm that was within her grasp. Her hand went immediately to the excruciating pain of the fall, desperately trying to regain her equilibrium. Just as she was confident she could open her eyes without an exploding twinge blasting the back of her head, she felt one of his boots come into contact with her ribs, knocking the wind out of her chest. His foot remained there, pinning her to the ground, at least until she could breathe without the room spinning around her. As she struggled to get up again, he opened the coat closet door. His eyes scanned up and down, as if searching. Then he began grabbing items from the top shelf, pulling them onto the floor. Umbrellas, old books from college, phone books, a shoebox full of photographs that had yet to find a home in any sort of album. Doing her best to turn her concussed head, shielding it from the falling objects that landed around her. Desperation to gain control of the situation came over her as she realized what he was searching for: something to bind her with.

Pulling a knife from his pocket, his voice became eerily soft, which unhinged Olivia. In a low growl, he hissed through his teeth, "Tell me where I can find a rope, or some tape." Olivia glared at him defiantly. Placing her hands on the floor at the back of her so she could push herself out from under his foot, she felt an object behind her that she realized may help her have some sort of defense. It was thick with a hard cover.

Tim leaned in closer, losing his patience. Bringing the knife nearer to her face, he threatened, "_Now_, lady."

She reached for the book blindly with her hand just as he noticed her actions. With one swift motion, he brought his weapon down, slicing her left arm with the sharp blade. Immediately, she lost her clutch on the book, covering the stinging wound with her right hand and was alarmed at the amount of wet blood she felt her shirt sleeve already absorbing.

"You bastard!" she snarled and that moment of hate was just what her body needed to surge forward, gripping the book off of the floor to swing it towards the back of his head. The blow sent him straight to the ground, landing him between her couch and coffee table.

"Arrrhhh," he groaned from bloodied lips. "You stupid b-", but before he could finish his sentence or push himself up off his knees, Olivia swung again twice, both times hitting him just above his left ear. After he fell limp, she grabbed her purse out from under the coffee table and quickly located her cell phone. Not seeing her cuffs anywhere, her police training kicked in and she knew she had to get away from him. As she stood, a wave if dizziness overcame her and she stumbled backwards, grabbing onto the arm of the couch with her left arm while she regained position. The regret she felt in using her wounded left arm for _anything_ hit her hard and fast. Instantly her right hand was again applying pressure to the cut, which continued to bleed, adding to the trail of blood that led to her crimson-stained fingertips. Worried she might vomit, she tried to control her breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Over and over her mind recited its instructions to her body.

Releasing her arm long enough to dial the three magic numbers, she held the phone between her shoulder and ear, stepping out into the hallway and leaning against the wall. Within seconds a calm voice spoke to her through the phone lines.

"9-1-1, what is your emergency please?"

"This—this is--…"

The bile began to make its way up her throat. It was too much to use more than one sensory at a time, so before she tried to speak again, Olivia slumped down onto the faded brown carpet, closing her eyes as tightly as she could.

"M-my name is Detective Olivia Bens--Benson with the Manhattan Special Victims Unit. Badge Num—…" Another deep breath and she could finish giving them the information they needed. All she had to do was breathe. Knowing she didn't have much time before she passed out, she decided to forgo the badge number and get straight to her address.

"I've been attacked," her vision became clouded. "I live—Houston Street…" she tried to suck in air as a feeling of weakness came over her. Why couldn't her mouth do what her brain was telling it to? Calm down. Focus. Breathe.

The concerned but composed voice of the emergency operator once again came across the earpiece. "Where do you live, honey? Detective Benson, I'm here. Just tell me the rest of your address and I will be able to send help quicker."

"310 Houston. I live at 310 Houston, 6G." Feeling more alone than she'd ever been, she longed for Elliot's presence and strength.

"Pls hry" was all the operator could make out. That was as far as Olivia could push herself before her breaths became shallower and the phone fell out of her hands. Feeling more alone than she'd ever been, darkness overtook her. Just as she slipped into unconsciousness, she heard the faint sound of sirens in the distance.


	8. Chapter 8

Wrapping his knuckles in gauze, Elliot knew he had gone too far. After Olivia had walked away from him—for what he saw as the third time now—he'd stayed in that elevator immobile and flushed from his assertion, his chest heaving from despondency and shame. He remained in what felt like his prison for so long that the doors closed, then opened, then closed again. He'd known he couldn't go home yet. So he'd pushed the square button; elevating his escape from the air she'd last shared with him.

Returning to the floor that served as his second home—or was it his first?—he'd made his way to the vinyl punching bag. Looking at it quietly, he'd thought about how still and motionless it was hanging there. It didn't have to move or make a lot of noise…but you knew it was there. You couldn't walk into the room without noticing the ominous black object. If one tried to ignore it's presence and continue on a direct path across the area, one would walk right into it. And yet there was no way to get rid of it. He could swing at it and knock it; punch at it with all his might, but it wasn't going anywhere. In the end it would still be there, looming in his space, getting in his way.

He'd banged up his hands until the knuckles were raw, some even bloody. His shirt was most likely ruined by the crimson spots that marred it. A disturbed smirk came across his face. Explaining this to Kathy was going to be a challenge. He couldn't help but think that if it were Olivia, no explanation would be necessary. She'd merely glance at his hands, turn her head away in aversion and get back to her work.

Ripping the medical tape with his teeth, he awkwardly pushed the adhesive into place on each hand. Knowing he couldn't postpone going to Queens any longer, and that Cragen would have his head if he was found sleeping in the crib after direct instructions to go home, he gathered his coat and left. Walking to his car, awareness came to him. He might have to leave work, but he didn't have to go home. At least not yet. There was one stop he'd make on the way. Pulling his cell phone from his coat pocket, he called the one person that might be able to help him sleep tonight.

As Elliot pulled up to the old church, he could see Father Bennion waiting outside for him. Finding him sitting on the steps of St. Ann's, Elliot was surprised to see him pinching a cigarette between his fingers. Elliot spoke first.

"I didn't know you had the habit."

Father Bennion exhaled with a sly smile, and glanced at Elliot's hands. "We all have habits that are hard to break."

Elliot wondered to which habit he was referring, his inclination towards Olivia or his habit of late-night atonement.

Looking at his shoes, Elliot apologized, "I'm sorry it's so late."

"It's not late. It's early," Father corrected. "And it's never too late for contrition, Elliot." As he destroyed what remained of the cigarette, he finished, "Besides, years with this congregation have taught me that many shed more light on their life _after_ it's dropped below the horizon."

Leading Elliot inside, Father Bennion didn't waste time. "You're here about your partner, I presume?"

Walking beside with his hands in his pockets, Elliot didn't deny Father Bennion's acute assumption.

"It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since we last spoke, so I assume not much has changed," said the priest.

If he only knew, thought Elliot. In that span of time, a major threat targeted the area in which his best friend lived and Elliot had come within a hair of admitting his full feelings for her. His wife was insecure and once again had expressed her jealousy toward a partnership that was going on a decade of existence. His hands were bandaged and sore from the tirade he'd inflicted upon an innocent punching bag. It was only a matter of time until the geyser was going to erupt.

Opening the door to his office, Father welcomed Elliot in and offered him a seat. After waiting for Elliot to begin and receiving nothing but silence, Father Bennion was tired of the games, the sugar-coating.

"Elliot, why are you here?"

Elliot still did not have an answer, but seemed confused the question had to be asked. Wasn't it obvious?

"Are you here for forgiveness of your sins, with a resolve to change your ways? Or are you here in search of reprieve for the guilt that you feel over the fact that you don't want to—or feel that you _can't_—change?"

Taken back by his directness, Elliot's mouth opened in unspoken protest. Weariness came over him. Weary of all the skirting. Weary of all the denial. Weary of trying to be something he's not.

Leaning over with his elbows on his knees, he rested his head in his hands. Rubbing the heel of his hands into his eyes, he made his ultimate admission. "I don't know which is more true, Father. I can only tell you that I honestly want to change. I _honestly_ want to be with my children. I _honestly_ love my baby girl. But I wish it wasn't just this baby that was keeping me in this marriage. I honestly wish I wanted to be with my wife. I honestly want to be honorable and make her happy. But I also honestly need Olivia. No one can do for me what she can. No one can understand me the way she can. I wish I didn't need her, didn't care the way I do. But I can tell you this—and this is more true than anything else that I've said to you tonight or ever before—I sincerely know I can't change how I feel about her. I know because I've tried. I'm tired of fighting it, but worried what I may lose if I don't."

"You mean your children," Father Bennion supposed.

"No, actually. I know Kathy would never take them away from me and that in a way, they'd gotten used to the idea of the divorce. I think some of them even welcomed it. I think they are all old enough to understand and after years of being pulled in so many different directions, I really believe that if our family cannot be founded on genuine love between their parents, they don't want us to be together."

"Then what do you think you will lose? Eternal salvation?"

"Uh, yeah, that's part of it. My faith is not just a front. I believe in it. But I'm also afraid of losing Kathy's respect. _Your_ respect. And what I'm most afraid of is that it may not be worth giving up the fight if there is a possibility what you're giving it up for might not be there in the end."

"You are not sure that Olivia shares your feelings?"

"No, actually, I'm pretty sure she does. She's never said so, but then again, neither have I and yet I know she is aware that I care for her beyond partnership. But I'm not sure she's willing to give up the fight. I know it's wearing her down, just as it is me, but I think because she's never had someone truly care for her, love her, she is not willing to stop fighting long enough to trust _me_ to do it."

Elliot cocked an eyebrow suspiciously at Father Bennion. "You know, I can't help but wonder what you are thinking, Father. You are a priest in the Catholic religion. Probably the most faithful man I have ever met. Here I am talking to you about my adulterous demons—the ones that are tempting me to leave my wife to be with another woman—and you are just sitting there, prodding me on with questions like a bartender."

Father Bennion laughed out loud, a reaction unexpected by Elliot. "Well, that's a first. I've never been compared to a bartender before!" Reigning in his humor, he still smiled, which Elliot thought was odd, considering he didn't exactly mean for it to be a compliment. Elliot began to feel apprehensive of Father Bennion's accommodating behavior.

Father Bennion answered Elliot's distrust. "Elliot, I am simply trying to understand what is in your head—no, your heart. It's true, I _am_ a priest. And I humbly also believe that I am faithful. I _believe_ in this faith. All of it, even the consequences of our mortal choices. But I also believe we have a Father in Heaven that loves us and doesn't want us to be unhappy our entire existence."

He continued as Elliot hung his head in humble yearning. "I have watched you and Kathy grow together over the years. I was there when you came to me as a teenager confessing your immorality and your desire to make it right by marrying Kathy and being a father to your baby, which I do believe was created out of love. I have seen you be faithful yourself, bringing your family to church every week, instilling within your beautiful son and daughters a sense of moral responsibility, a sense of testimony and purpose. I have been witness to your honor, as you remained true to your family by providing for them and loving them, even when you did not share the same roof. I have seen you struggle to keep your faith as you take on the sinful, immoral creatures of this world. I have seen the burden of that effort weigh you down into the depths of despair and darkness. I have also watched Kathy battle her anxieties over your job, and then believe it or not, during your separation I saw her flourish as she seemed to find a piece of herself she didn't know was there. I have worried about you both, prayed for you, that you might find some balance and peace. That somehow the Lord might grace you with the light that I once saw in your eyes so many years ago. It is not there all the time as it used to be." Father Bennion paused as he contemplated the wisdom in his next sentence. "_But it is there when you speak of Olivia_."

Elliot's head whipped in astonishment. Squinting his eyes at the now-silent man behind the desk, Elliot whispered, "What are you saying? Are you telling me I would not be _wrong_ to get a divorce? Are you telling me I wouldn't be _wrong_ in moving forward with Olivia?"

Father Bennion stood and walked around the desk to Elliot's chair. Reaching down for Elliot's hands, he gingerly clasped them between his own. Elliot rose to his feet.

Father Bennion gave a gentle, knowing smile. "What I am saying, my son, is that you need to go home and talk to your wife."

Not understanding his sudden contradiction, Elliot calmly pulled his wrapped hands from the priest's.

Again, Father Bennion told Elliot, "Listen to me, Elliot. _Talk_ to your wife. Talk to _Kathy_. You _need_ to talk to her."

Cocking his head, Elliot's frustration grew impatient. "I don't understand. What is that supposed to mean? Do you know something I don't?"

Before Father Bennion could answer, Elliot's pocket rang loudly. Still watching Father Bennion, Elliot pulled out the phone. When he saw that it was Captain Cragen, he turned to the father and said, "Excuse me, just one second."

Turning his body and stepping two or three steps away, he answered, "Stabler."

"Elliot, it's Don. I wish I were calling under better circumstances."

Alerted by the fatherly tone in his voice, Elliot panicked. "What is it? What's going on?"

Father Bennion watched Elliot's profile alter from aggravation and confusion to fury and dread.

"I just got word that Olivia is at St. Vincent's. Apparently, she was attacked at her apartment. I thought you'd want to—"

"—I'm on my way. I'll meet you there."

Shoving his phone into his pocket, he stepped out of the office in one giant stride. Father Bennion tried to follow, but Elliot just yelled back to him, "I have to go to St. Vincent's, Olivia's hurt!"

Letting Elliot leave, he returned to his office, troubled. Dropping to his knees beside the desk, he began a supplication to the only One he knew that could help Elliot now.

For some reason, driving all the way from Queens felt like it might as well have been from across the country. Each mile felt as though it passed in slow motion. It didn't matter that he was driving like a maniac to the hospital, like someone who should be arrested. It still felt as though it took too long. Why didn't he live closer to her? Why didn't he just stay at the station? Why didn't he force her to let him give her a ride home?

Elliot parked in the first spot he found. He didn't care if his car was towed from the red-zone. He didn't have time to find a more legal location. Sweat beaded down his neck, dampening his collar. A million scenarios played out in his mind. The worst one involved her leaving this world without hearing what she deserved. That she was loved. That she was needed. That no one could take her place. Even if she was well, this moment had taught him that he couldn't wait any longer. Father Bennion's words about God rang in his head over and over. That He wouldn't want us to live our existence unhappily. Thinking of his own kids, he could believe that to be true. He'd rather they live an _imperfect_ life _happily_ than be miserable in the illusion they thought their _father_ wanted them to live. No matter what her condition was, it was now or never.

His legs carried him to the Emergency doors, but they felt like rubber. At this point he didn't even know how his body was functioning, other than on pure adrenaline and fear.

As the electric doors spread open, he stepped up to the desk he'd been to a hundred times before in search of a victim. It seemed impossible to him that the woman the entire force knew could kick any of their asses was now a victim, too. No!, Elliot told himself. _Nobody_ could call _her_ a "victim".

A woman at the computer recognized him from many other nights like this, and immediately stepped out from behind the partition to greet him on a much more personal level. Because she knew this _was_ personal for him. She'd known it from the moment she'd seen the patient's face, or at least whatever part wasn't bruised and swollen.

"Detective, I've been expecting you."

Elliot nodded eagerly. "How is she? _Where_ is she?"

"If you'll come with me I'll take you to where the others are waiting."

Following the familiar nurse, Elliot objected, "I don't want to go with the others, I want to go to her."

"I understand, but I can't take you to Detective Benson right now. I believe the doctors are still with her. I would imagine they won't be much longer and they'll be able to give you an update soon."

"No!" Elliot stopped and grabbed her arm. "I need to know now. You don't understand. I can't wait. I have to know _now_. Please can you tell me anything?"

"I'm not supposed—"

"I know, I know. 'Modus operandi' and all that other bullshit. But I. don't. care. I _have_ to know. _Please_ tell me!"

Judging by the red in his eyes and desperation in his voice, the kindhearted nurse pulled him aside. "I really don't know much. I saw her come in but I didn't help work on her."

_Work on her_. They had to work on her. Elliot nearly slumped to the floor in imagination of what all that entailed. If it hadn't been for the wall behind supporting him, his legs probably would have given out.

"When the paramedics wheeled her in she was unconscious and bruised. That's all I know, honestly. Right after Detective Benson wheeled past, Mr. Blackner was brought in and I was asked to help treat his injuries."

A spark burst in Elliot's eyes. "Wait, did you say Mr. _Blackner_? He was brought in at the same time?"

Stepping back with trepidation, the nurse nodded and said, "Now, please Detective, just follow me. You can get more information, I'm sure, from your captain. He's been waiting for you."

As they walked, the nurse cleared her throat and said, "While you wait, I can attend to your hands, if you like."

Self-conscious of his gauche doctoring, Elliot just looked down at his wounds and said, "We'll see. Thank you, but I'm not worried about that right now."

Walking into a small waiting room, it seemed too calm and still. A television that hung in the corner illustrated the Home Shopping Network. Elliot could see Simon and Lucy Marsden sitting in some chairs in the corner, talking quietly. Cragen saw the nurse and Elliot come near, so he stood, knowing there were questions Elliot would need answering.

As the nurse walked away, Cragen spoke before Elliot could begin. He placed a hand on the worried man's shoulder.

"She's going to be fine, Elliot. When the paramedics found her she was in the hallway outside her apartment unconscious. It appears that she'd left her apartment to make the call to 9-1-1."

"Was she…?"

Unable to finish his sentence, Elliot was grateful when Cragen read his mind and alleviated his concerns. "No. I wondered that at first, especially since she was still unconscious when I got here and we didn't know for sure. But even then it looked promising because she was fully dressed when they found her. Since then she's awakened and was adamantly certain us that nothing like that took place."

"So what happened? How'd she end up unconscious?"

"When police arrived at the seen they found Tim Blackner also unconscious inside her apartment in the living room. The apartment showed signs of a struggle, as well as blood."

"Blood?" Elliot swallowed back the bile that threatened to expose his fears.

"A small amount on the coffee table, believed to be Blackner's, since that was where he was found, and another small amount on a wall. CSU is there now collecting evidence. Once the paramedics began treating Blackner, he became conscious and tried to fight them off. However, he was so weak at that point, the police were easily able to 'calm him down', if you know what I mean."

"What else do we know?"

"That's all at this point. I went in to see her but they wouldn't let me at first. Only the next of kin. Simon and Lucy went in for a couple of minutes, and then Olivia threw a fit about how I was family, and I got to go in," Cragen shared a little too proudly. "Soon the doctors ushered us out so they could finish stitching her up. Olivia didn't say much except that we all shouldn't have come and that she was just fine. She didn't understand why everyone was making such a big deal about it all."

This bit of good news caused Elliot to give a small smile and breathe a quick sound of relief, although not completely. "Sounds like Olivia already."

"The doctors finished about five minutes ago, so I'm sure you could see her in a few minutes."

"Forget it, I'm not waiting. What room is she in?"

The look on Cragen's face made it obvious he had something to hide. "Uh, why don't we give her a few minutes?"

Trying to guide Elliot to the elevator, he offered, "Let's go to the cafeteria and get a quick cup of coffee. By the time we get back I'm sure she'll be aching for some company."

Elliot knew his captain too well and alarm swept over him as he wondered why Cragen was stalling his seeing Olivia.

Squinting his eyes at him, Elliot accused, "Why won't you let me see her?"

"Don't be asinine. Of course you can see her. I just think she needs some time."

"You're lying to me. Tell me why. Now."

When Cragen didn't say anything, Elliot walked out of the room and around the corner to the hallway. Looking down the long corridor, he could see a doctor and two policemen talking outside a room. Determined and walking towards them, his actions came to an abrupt halt when he saw Dean Porter standing next to Olivia's bed.

Turning around quickly as to avoid discovery, it wasn't fast enough to miss the scene that lay before him. Olivia was lying in the bed, partly reclined and with tears in her eyes. Smiling weakly, her face bore different shades of dark pink and redness; her left arm was bandaged, but he could see where the blood had seeped through the center of the gauze. She was looking at Dean, who gently held her hands. They were clearly involved in a personal discussion and Elliot was not about to be the fool who interrupted with his own declarations of love.

Walking back to the waiting room, he found Fin had arrived and was talking to Cragen. When they looked up to see him, he motioned to the elevator.

"I need some coffee. I'll be back in an hour," he said. "Call my cell if there's a change."

Knowing he needed some space, Cragen just nodded his head and let his surrogate son try to heal his heart.


	9. Chapter 9: Interrogation

Letting Dean hold her hands as they finalized the end of their relationship, Olivia prayed she wasn't making a mistake. Dean was a _good_ person. Someone she'd come to care for as a close friend and whom she felt would be there for her. Hell, he'd been there for her tonight, even though she hadn't asked him to be. When Captain Cragen had contacted Simon about Olivia's attack, Simon had asked him to also notify Dean Porter on Olivia's behalf. Simon had heard Olivia speak of Dean so frequently as of late, and one time Dean even came with Olivia to his house when she needed to drop off family photo albums she'd borrowed. It seemed anytime he spoke with Olivia or saw her, Dean was part of the equation. Olivia supposed she couldn't blame sweet Simon for mistakenly believing her relationship with Dean was more than it really was. Later, she'd have to give him a sisterly scolding for poking his nose in her business, but also a hug for looking out for her.

"It pains me to see you banged up like this, but I'm glad you weren't harmed worse," Dean said genuinely. "When Cragen called me I could only think of the worst."

Tears came to Olivia's eyes. Her throat felt tight and dry as she struggled to speak. It hurt to breathe the air necessary to form words. "I'm sorry for…(_breath_)…scaring everybody." (_More breaths_) "…I wish none of you had known." (_Breath_) "…'feel like I've wasted your night."

"I think you're worth getting out of bed for," Dean winked. Patting her hand, he cautioned her, "Don't speak anymore, okay? It's too much for you." Summoning his courage he asked, "Is it alright with you if I just sit with you for a couple more minutes? We don't have to talk."

Olivia tried to pay attention to Dean, but for a split second she could have sworn she'd seen Elliot in the hallway. Unable to change her position for a second glance, she reprimanded herself for imagining him there.

Noticing that Olivia no longer seemed to be listening to him, Dean tried to continue the conversation, "I, uh, I hope you didn't mind that I came, considering our conversation at your door. But I was concerned, and to be honest, I think a part of me was hoping you'd ask for me."

"I'm touched (_breath_) you would come. But I meant (_breath_) what I said the other night, we could have a great friendship (_breath_)—please give it a chance."

Careful not to life her arms to high, Dean leaned down and kissed her fingertips. "Well, if I can't date you, then I'd be honored to at least have you consider me a ally." Pausing, Dean asked about Simon. "Things must be going well with your brother."

Not feeling up to speaking anymore—just breathing _without_ the concern of talking felt excruciating, Olivia just nodded.

"Simon told me that Lucy asked you to be a bridesmaid when they got married this summer. You never told me that."

Olivia gave a half-smile and shrugged.

"Well, I bet it felt nice to be included."

She'd felt ridiculous being a bridesmaid at her age, but she didn't want to disappoint Lucy or Simon, so she'd agreed. In the end, she was glad she'd made the choice to accept the invitation. It was an incredible feeling at the reception to tell people she was the "sister of the groom". It was the first time in a long time she'd felt as though she had a family, one in which she was loved and played a significant role. Her favorite part of it all was being an aunt to Lucy's little boy. He adored Olivia—and the feelings were reciprocated.

Olivia tried to reposition herself, but her cracked rib caused her face to grimace in pain.

"Whoa, take it easy. Are you in pain? Let me help you—what do you need? More painkillers?"

"No!" Olivia said almost too forcefully. Embarrassed at her dramatic response, she tried to explain herself. "No heavy drugs (_breath_) until I absolutely can't take it anymore."

"Perhaps a pillow would help?" Dean offered. Olivia motioned to an extra pillow on the chair. "Unfortunately, I think the nurse is right when she says you're going to hurt a lot worse tomorrow." Dean helped place it near her back as Olivia yawned painfully.

"Well, I, um, think you need some rest. I'm gonna get out of here, but I'll be back tomorrow. Anything you'd like me to pick up? Favorite magazines? Ice cream? Morphine drip?" Dean joked.

"No, no…please don't bother yourself. (_Breath) _I'm sure I'll be able to check out tomorrow anyway. Let's do lunch when I'm back on my feet, (_breath_) okay?"

A skeptical Dean raised his eyebrows in doubt, but decided to humor the stubborn patient. "Okay. Sounds good—I'll call. Unless I hear from you first because you need something. Even if it's just some company or a ride home. Deal?"

Olivia smiled gratefully. "Deal. Thanks, Dean."

Appreciating Dean's thoughtfulness, but also uncomfortable with all the attention she was getting, Olivia welcomed the time alone now. The events from her apartment ran over and over in her mind. She kept thinking about all the things she should have done differently to protect herself better. She also thought about the conversation she and Elliot had at the precinct elevator. All her big talk about being able to take care of herself. Boy, was he going to have a field day with this. He'd never leave her alone about it again. She dreaded seeing anyone from work—she was sure she'd lost all respect from her peers. It was hard enough being a female cop, let alone detective. It was like some people were just _waiting _for you to screw up and take a hit.

Feeling the weight of her eyelids, she finally decided to stop fighting her body and succumb to the rest it was demanding from her.

As Dean approached the waiting room, he thanked Simon and Captain Cragen for thinking to call him. Pushing the elevator button, he waited for the doors to open. All but deciding he wasn't going to wait any longer and take the stairs, he heard the familiar bell indicating the lift had reached his floor. Standing back for the opening doors, he waited to enter so the exiting party would have room. Dean was surprised to see Elliot on the other side of the threshold.

Holding a cup of coffee, Elliot made a point to hold direct eye contact with Agent Porter. Never breaking the contact as he walked passed him, Elliot nodded a civil hello.

Dean caught Elliot's attention before he moved for the elevator by whispering, "Detective…uh, I mean, Elliot…"

Stopping at the informal use of his first name, Elliot looked straight ahead while Dean spoke.

"I just wanted to say…whether she knows it or not, Olivia's been waiting for you." Sighing in defeat as he went inside the elevator. Prior to the doors closing, he finished his thoughts towards Elliot. "Don't make her wait any longer than she already has."

Before Elliot could turn around and make Porter explain his statement, the doors had closed and he was gone.

Trying to appear as though their exchange wasn't so cryptic, Elliot walked forward towards Fin and Cragen.

"Hey, man, how you holdin' up?" Fin asked.

Playing it cool—too cool—Elliot remarked, "I've been told she's going to be fine, so that makes me fine."

"Come on, man, don't give me that. We all know what it's like to have your partner in trouble. We all know you're goin' through hell right now. Don't mess things up worse by—"

"I'm _fine_, I said," Elliot bit out. "Now do you think it would be possible to turn our attention towards the son of a bitch that did this to her? Where is he?"

"Paramedics brought him here initially, but as soon as he was stable enough, he was transported to Bellevue Hospital Prison Ward on First Avenue. He'll be monitored for twenty-four hours there and if given the clear, taken onto Rikers."

"Stable enough? What were his injuries?" Elliot raised the question the captain was most eager to answer.

"Bruised over nearly inch of his body, it seems. Broken nose and cheekbone. Concussion," Cragen puffed up in pride at describing the damage Liv's attacker endured. "Seems our girl not only overcame with her own bare hands, but also used a book to knock the asshole unconscious."

"When can we start in on this guy?" Fin asked.

"Munch is on his way to Bellevue now. Lake should be meeting him."

"I want to go, too," Elliot demanded.

"Munch and Lake can handle it. Don't you want to stay and—"

"I'll see her tomorrow," Elliot postponed. "I'll let her get some rest and come by in the morning." He wasn't completely lying, as he _was_ anxious to get his hands on Blackner. Right around his throat, to be precise. But if the whole truth were told, he also assumed that Olivia had already seen the one man tonight she really needed, or wanted.

"It _is_ morning," Fin pointed out, trying to catch Elliot in his thin excuse.

"You know what I mean," said Elliot, no longer willing to answer questions about something that was nobody's business but his own. Turning to leave, he asked over his shoulder, "You guys coming or not?"

Meeting up with Lake and Munch, then flashing their badges at the officers posted outside Blackner's door, the five men entered Blackner's room. He was sitting up in bed, watching television with one wrist hand-cuffed to the bed. Seeing the small space fill with officers of the law, he almost visually shrunk down in trepidation.

"Feeling up to company?" Munch jeered. "Or have you had enough human interaction for one night?"

"Yo, Couch Potato, turn the TV off—we got some questions for your punk ass." Fin grabbed the remote off the bed. Blackner shriveled back in alarm as Fin's arm rose to press power at the television.

Fin laughed at Blackner's cowardly conduct. "What? You think I'm gonna hit you? Man, you only _wish_ I would have been the one to get to you tonight. How's it feel to have be put in the hospital by a _girl_?"

Blackner only stared at Fin, nervous at seeing five comrades of the officer he'd assaulted standing around his bed. Elliot took in Blackner's appearance. His nose was definitely broken, judging by the bruising around his eyes and nasal cavities, as well as the crooked line his nose was sporting. Elliot could see an ice pack on the table near the bed. He assumed Blackner was supposed to use it for the swelling. One side of his face was also extremely swollen and almost misshapen. Elliot assumed that was the broken cheekbone Cragen had spoken of.

"You wanna tell us what happened tonight, Tim?" Lake asked. "Like what in the world made you think you'd get away with it?"

Tim was silent for a moment as he beckoned his courage. In a small voice, he said, "I wasn't planning on hurting her. Not at first, anyway."

"Oh…well, that just changes everything, doesn't it?" Elliot dripped with sarcasm. Turning to his coworkers, he continued, "He didn't mean to attack her. It just happened."

"Honest, I only wanted to talk to her. Ask her why she just couldn't leave me alone." Darting his eyes back and forth, Tim tried to distinguish which detective might buy his story. "You don't know what it was like for me. I had nowhere to go. I didn't have a job. You were watching my apartment. I had no money. My life was over."

"And you thought talking to Detective Benson would make your problems just disappear?" Cragen asked in abhorrence.

"I just wanted her to understand what happened. I wanted her to understand that I am not a bad person. Once I got her into her apartment, I was going to tie her up just so she'd be forced to listen. I _wasn't_ going to hurt her." Taking a bitter look to his face, Tim tried to defend himself. "I didn't come onto Andrea, you know. She came onto _me_."

"That's not what we heard, man." Fin challenged Tim's statement. "We hear you're always spreadin' a line for the ladies. Fillin' 'em up with compliments. To the point it got you fired!"

"I was just giving good customer service! I was at work when Andrea came in. She asked me for help with the self-serve copier. _She_ came onto _me_!"

"You think a woman asking for assistance with a machine means she wants to have sex with you? What's wrong with your head, Tim?" Munch was appalled.

"You weren't there. You don't know. The way she looked at me. She wanted me. She started talking to me about this party she was going to. She invited me to go with her. _She_ invited _me_!"

"So because she invited you to go to a party, she was inviting you to rape her?" Munch asked. "You don't waste any time there, do you?"

"She was hitting on me all night long. Taking my picture, getting me beers."

"True, she did take your picture," Lake acknowledged, "along with several other people in attendance. And according to them, she was rejecting your advances all evening. Your obnoxious and clueless flirting was nothing but a huge turn-off to her."

"And that made you angry, didn't it?" Elliot leaned towards Tim menacingly. "You had just lost your job and now this girl was giving you mixed signals and playing you like a fool."

Tim pressed his back as far back into the sheets as he could, trying to create space between himself and the broad detective.

"You were going to teach her a lesson. So when you saw her walking past the copy store later that night, you felt the perfect opportunity. You dragged her back into that alley and raped her, then murdered her…Didn't you, you insignificant piece of garbage? _DIDN'T_ _YOU_?" The other detectives watched Elliot balling up his fists over and over. They glanced at Cragen in concern.

"I only wanted to find out why Andrea was so hot and cold. I never meant to hurt her." Tim was crying now. "It just got out of hand. I didn't mean to hurt her! I never meant for her to die! I only wanted to talk to her!"

"Just like you 'only wanted to talk to Detective Benson', right? You sick bastard! You're all _sick bastards_ with zero control!" Elliot now had one hand on each side rail of the hospital bed, so close to Tim's head that Tim could feel the heat coming from Elliot's face.

Just before he did something to compromise their interrogation, Cragen wedged his arm between Tim and Elliot as Fin and Lake pulled the angry detective away.

"Come on, man," Fin persuaded. "I know you're mad, we all are. But he ain't worth it. He ain't worth the air we breathe."

Time passed slowly for Olivia. She was exhausted and wanted desperately to sleep, but the pain was increasingly worse, as well as the nausea. She'd vomited twice in the past hour, although there was nothing left in her stomach. The dry heaving was unbearable with her damaged rib. Finally deciding she needed additional help, she called the nurse back into her room and requested something stronger for the pain.

Feeling her world become soft and dizzy as the drug entered her bloodstream, Olivia was at last able to close her eyes and fall into a deep sleep.

It was during this time that Elliot returned to the hospital. Walking past the empty nurse station, he quietly opened her door. It was light out again, the morning sun seeping through the blinds. Relieved to find her sleeping, he silently closed the blinds, hoping the artificial darkness might help postpone her waking.

Sitting in the upholstered chair next to the bed, he rested his elbows on his knees while he looked at her. She was asleep, but not peacefully. He was troubled at the way her brow was creased and mouth turned in a frown. Hearing her moan softly, he noticed the corners of her eyes were wet. Feeling guilty that he may have been able to prevent the suffering that was causing her bad dreams, he hung his head in despair. Soon he felt his own tears fall and he covered his face with his hands.

"Liv," he whispered. "Oh, Liv. God, I'm so sorry. There's nothing I can do to make up for what I have done. For neglecting you. For not being there. For not protecting you." Sobs racked his body as he tried to control his volume. "You're my partner and I wasn't there. I'm. _never_. _there_. Never there with you."

Gently raising his arm onto her bed, he delicately grasped her left hand within his own. "I want to be, Liv. I'm tired of this weighing us down. It's always going to hang over us, isn't it? This _thing_ between us. The only way I figure we'll get rid of it is to stop dancing around and face it. If we don't, I'm afraid it's going to destroy us. Not just our partnership, but us."

Rubbing her fingernails with his thumb, he stared at the way her hands were cut up, just like his. Just one more way they were one and the same. A couple of fingernails were broken and her knuckles were raw from the fight she'd given that asshole. He smiled a little with pride. "Atta girl," he thought to himself. As he rubbed her fingers, he noticed her face no longer indicated a restless sleep. Instead, she now reflected tranquility.

Looking at her ring finger, his heart ached for her loneliness. Would she ever be able to wear a band on that hand? For her sake, he prayed the answer was yes. But he also prayed to God that when she did, he would no longer be around. He could never watch her make that commitment to another man. He could never _not_ be the man in her life.

Knowing he'd never admit this to a conscious Olivia, he told her about his visits to Father Bennion. "I've been talking to my priest lately. Trying to clear my head—or my conscience, I guess. I'm still not sure if it's helping…"

Letting go of her hand, he grabbed the tattered hem of the hospital blanket. Rubbing it between his thumb and pointer finger, he focused on the white stitching to help him go on. "I told him about my feelings for you. What it was like for me when you were gone. I never thought I'd ever voice this, but I even admitted to him that the baby was the only thing keeping me with Kathy. His reaction wasn't what I'd expected. Father Bennion just looked at me like he hadn't anticipated me saying anything different than that. Instead of counseling me to find joy in my family, or giving me direct advice on improving my relationship with Kathy, he told me that God would want me to be happy. What do you think that means?"

Dropping the blanket hem as he realized he was talking to himself, his eyes again began to moisten. "I was there at the church when Cragen called." Sucking in a thick breath of air, he choked out, "When he called, I just knew. He didn't even really have to say it. I just knew something had happened to you. And that I wasn't there to stop it." Twisting his face in the memory of that moment, he gripped the side of the bed and rested his face on his outstretched arms. Silently weeping, he exerted great effort in regaining his composure. "What would I have done, Liv? Without you, I mean? I couldn't… What if…"

Feeling a hand softly cover his tight hold on the bed rail, Elliot's breath caught in his throat. Snapping his head upward, his red-rimmed eyes gazed into her sleepy brown pools. Tears streamed down her cheek, wetting her pillow. Holding their stare for over a minute, their eyes spoke all the words they both felt. All the words they'd never cross the line to say. The honor and duty they _both_ felt towards their jobs, towards Elliot's family, towards their own personal morals. It was a line they'd never cross because that was who they were. Two people founded upon good values and principles. Ethics and responsibility, even to the point of self-sacrifice.

Elliot broke the silence with his strangled voice. "How long have you… What did you…?"

Olivia's voice was hoarse and deep with feeling. Trying not to show the pain that came with speaking, she concentrated on the blue swirls in his eyes. "Long enough to hear you (_breath_) blaming yourself for _my_ mistakes."

Blinking at her self-condemnation, he only shook his head. "I'm your partner. I should have—"

"—Offered me a ride home? (_breath_) Which I insisted I did not need?" Giving a small, self-loathing chuckle, Olivia turned her head away from Elliot. Staring at the ceiling, she swallowed loudly. "No one will ever look at me (_breath_) the same."

Confused, Elliot ran a single finger through the hair at her temple. "What are you talking about? Of course we will."

"I've lost all their respect. (_breath_) Now they'll only see me as weak."

A low rumble of laughter came from Elliot's throat. "Did you see what you did to that jerk? You kicked his ass. No one is going to see you as weak, Liv. If anything, we're all probably a little more afraid of you."

Olivia gave a complimentary smile. "I should have noticed he was following me." Shaking her head softly, she stilled as she took a shallow breath. She wondered aloud, "Why didn't I notice?"

"We aren't superhuman, Olivia. People make mistakes. Even detectives. Are we expected to live our lives constantly one-hundred percent aware of every little thing around us?"

"We've been trained to be."

"No, we've been trained to be while on the job. But we have lives outside the job, Liv. You can't live your life _expecting_ danger around each corner. Don't beat yourself up over this."

Catching his Freudian slip, Olivia looked at him and rolled her eyes. "You're one to talk." (_breath_)

After a moment of silence, she confessed to Elliot, "I was distracted."

"What do you mean?"

"I wasn't paying attention. (_breath_) Because I was thinking…"

"About what?"

Returning her eyes to the ceiling, Olivia told him the truth. "About what you said. (_breath_) At the elevator."

Before Elliot could respond, they were interrupted by a quick knock at the door.

Popping her head inside, the nurse on duty explained, "Ms. Benson, it's time for another dose of medicine."

"I think I'm fine," Olivia tried to avoid the painkillers. "I'm feeling much better now."

"You might think so now, dear, but if you let the last dosage end without _another_ beginning, you'll be in a world of hurt."

Looking to Elliot for back-up, he raised his hands in the air surrendering to the nurse's instructions. "Don't like at me," he said. "As far as I'm concerned, the more painkillers for you, the better."

Sighing deeply, then regretting the sudden contracting of her diaphragm, Olivia was quickly convinced that the drugs might still be needed.

Waving a white paper in the air, Munch walked into the bullpen with a satisfied smile upon his face.

"Here it is, folks, in black and white. Tim Blackner's blood from Olivia's apartment proves that it is his DNA which was found inside Andrea Millecam's body and under her fingernails."

"I'll call Casey," Fin suggested.

"No need," Cragen stated from the doorway of his office. "She already knows, as does Mr. Blackner's public defender. They're already working on a guilty plea. The defense knows they don't have a leg to stand on between Blackner's confession and the DNA evidence."

Turning his attention to Elliot, who walked in at the tail end of Munch's good news, Cragen motioned for him to come into his office.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Sorry it's been a few days. I went out of town and now I have a terrible cold, which seems to be getting worse. I really want Elliot and Olivia to get together, but it's got to be the right way and at the right time. I hope you enjoy this next chapter—it's got a bit of E/O…**

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_Turning his attention to Elliot, who walked in at the tail end of Munch's good news, Cragen motioned for him to come into his office._

Shutting the door behind him, Elliot faced Cragen, who was sitting on the corner of his desk. Opening a plastic tub of Red Vines licorice and pulling out two ropes for himself, Don then silently offered some to Elliot, who shook his head in polite refusal.

"You left Bellevue pretty quickly after Blackner gave his statement. Did you go back to St. Vincent's?" Don asked.

Elliot merely nodded his affirmation, recalling his vulnerable breakdown at Olivia's bedside.

"How's she doing?" Don asked.

"As good as she can be. Still bruised up and I think it's still very painful for her to use her lungs, with that rib and all, but for the most part she's a trooper."

"Yeah, she's a tough one. Did she say if they were talking of releasing her soon?"

"The nurse came in while I was there. 'Said that if Olivia promised to rest, they'd release her tomorrow morning."

"Well, that's less than twenty-four hours from now, but even at that I can imagine Olivia is chomping at the bit to get out of there. Does she have any idea where she'll go? Her apartment's still considered a crime scene."

Concerned, Elliot hadn't considered her apartment being unavailable. "We didn't really talk about it." After quietly thinking, Elliot assumed, "I guess maybe Simon's? She did mention to the nurse that her brother could pick her up."

Cragen nodded and then looked down, suddenly interested in the chipped edge of the desk underneath him. Standing and placing a fatherly hand upon Elliot's shoulder, he did his best to comfort Elliot.

"You know, there was nothing any of us could have done. No way we could have known."

Elliot couldn't look at Don, feeling lost in his anguish over Olivia's pain. "We've been together longer than any other detectives in this unit. We know each other better than anyone else could. If anyone should have been there for her, it should have been me."

"Olivia told me you'd tried to take her home. You did the best you could. You can't be everything to everyone, Elliot. You can't be everywhere at once—there for your family, there for your partner, at the same time. At some point, something has to give."

Slumping in the brown leather chair at the corner of the room, Elliot leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "I know you're right. Logically, I know you're right. But I wish…"

After a moment, it was obvious Elliot was never going to finish his sentence, so Cragen changed the subject.

"Go home, Elliot. I'm guessing you haven't slept in almost two days. Go home and see your family. Kathy's probably upset you missed attending Mass this morning with the family. You didn't really get a weekend so take a few days off. Andrea's murder is closed and so is Olivia's attack. Try to spend a couple days without thinking about work. About Olivia." Hesitating only a second as Elliot nodded and got up out of the chair, Cragen added, "How's the baby? The kids?"

Elliot reached for the doorknob. "The kids are good. Parent teacher conference gave a good report. They're excited to have a new baby sister."

"Seems _girls_ are your specialty, Detective." Cragen teased. Gently guiding Elliot through the doorway, his captain gave his goodbyes for the night. "Now head on home. Let your family remember what you look like these days."

"Yeah, I will. Maybe if I'm lucky enough I'll make it home for a nice Sunday dinner. One I don't have to reheat."

"See you on Wednesday, then."

"Yeah, see ya."

The next two weeks seemed to bring things back into the normal routine. Olivia left the hospital, and just like Elliot had predicted, spent the first week of her recovery with Simon and Lucy. Elliot was grateful that she had family now that she could lean on. Or more importantly, the kind of family that wouldn't take "no" for an answer and would _make_ her lean on them.

Lucy had taken the first few days of the week off to help Olivia, as it was still difficult for her to get around, but by the end of the week Olivia had insisted Lucy return to her job—that she'd be fine by herself during the day. Shortly after, she and her apartment were ready to be reunited. The first night, Cragen had dropped by with Chinese just to check on her. He'd stayed for about half an hour after finishing their meal, until he felt confident she was settled in and able to do all the things she needed to do for herself.

Another week of heavy rest and healing had passed before Olivia could take no more and had begged Cragen to come back to work, even if it was desk duty. He spoke with her doctor, who was nervous about her moving around "too much too soon". So instead the Captain met her halfway and let her do some work at home. He asked Elliot to drop off the files at Olivia's apartment on his way home.

Arriving at her doorstep, he noticed the bright sheen of a new lock installed on the white paneled door. Knowing Olivia would never admit to another person that she was afraid, he was relieved that at least she wasn't too proud to admit it to herself and to take the appropriate actions to alleviate that fear.

Tapping his hand twice on the door, he was just beginning to wonder if he should knock again when he heard the locks turning. She had been expecting him, but it took her longer than she'd liked for her to get off the couch into a standing position and walk to the door. As she opened the door, the recognizable smell of fresh paint hit his nostrils and he made a face.

She chuckled at his expression. "That first week, Lucy came back to help clean up my apartment and was having so much trouble getting the blood stains off the wall and table, Simon repainted them for me before I came back," she explained.

He was relieved in seeing her short sleeves that most of the bruising on her arms and face had either completely disappeared or had colored to faint yellow marks, on the verge of extinction. By the way that she moved, he could tell that her rib was still bothering her, but at least she was up, moving around. "He replace your lock for you, too?"

"Yeah. I didn't ask him too, but he did it anyway."

"Pretty thoughtful guy to have around. Must feel good to have someone like that in your life."

Olivia cocked her head and smiled at him softly. What she said next was so quiet Elliot almost missed it. "He's not the first man in my life to be like that."

Not knowing what to say next, he decided the best thing would be to give her what had brought him there in the first place.

"Cap sent you a get-well present."

Almost eagerly, her smile widened as she took the case files and paperwork from his hands. "I'm just grateful for something to do—anything! Did you know there is _nothing_ on television during the day? It had gotten so bad that I'd even begun working on empty photo-albums I'd postponed time and time again."

"I never pegged you for a scrapbooker," he mocked her with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't get carried away…I finally decided to just take a box of loose photos and put them in an album. Nothing fancy." She motioned to an album that sat on her kitchen counter.

"Hmmm…," he mumbled suspiciously. Walking over to the album, he picked it up and asked, "May I?"

"Sure, but don't get your hopes up. Its just old pictures. Not very interesting."

Casually flipping through the first black pages checked with photographs, most were people and events he didn't recognize. A few photos had Olivia in them and judging by the length of her hair and clothing, he assumed it was during college. The further he went, however, the more people he knew. Some she'd attended the academy with, some were friends that had come to visit her at the station over the years. As he came to the last half of the album, an unfastened newspaper clipping fell out and onto the floor.

"I'm sorry," he said as he bent down.

She tried to pick it up before he could, saying "Don't worry about it—here, I got it." But her back and abdomen were still sore and stiff, limiting her speed and flexibility.

As he picked it up and turned it over, she seemed agitated. Extending her hand and gesturing her impatience, she tried to sound relaxed when she was anything but, "Here, give it to me. It must have just fallen out." Her demands only peaked Elliot's interest.

Seeing it was an article written about a case they'd worked nearly two years ago, just before Gitano. He remembered reading it himself when it had come out in the Post. He eyed the heading: "Manhattan's Best Beat Serial Rapist At Own Game". Olivia had assumed her undercover identity as Rachel and portrayed herself as a prostitute to help catch a John that was beating and raping hookers. The victims were beaten and raped in different ways & locations, but the one thing they had to tie their attacks together was what Daryl Bates had whispered in their ears just before he'd become violent: "Don't worry—I'll be the best you'll ever have." Elliot had fought tooth and nail to catch Bates a different way—_any_ way but this. Anything to avoid using his partner as bait. But in the end, even he'd agreed this was the only way. So, they'd hidden a wired mic behind the headboard and Olivia had expertly drawn Bates onto the bed so his voice would be clearly heard. Though uncomfortable, her commitment to bringing him down had given her the strength not to push him away when he'd guided her to lie against the bedspread and began kissing her neck. Just as he'd lifted her up so he could unzip her tight dress, he'd done what the surveillance team in the unmarked van across the street from the dumpy motel had been waiting for. Those ten magic words: "Don't worry, Rachel—I'll be the best you'll ever have." Before he could say or do anything else, police had kicked down the door and forced him onto the floor as they cuffed him. It had been a media-circus with the case from the start, considering the fact that the first prostitute to be attacked was shockingly the Governor's niece. As soon as television crews and newspaper reporters had caught wind of the sting-operation, they'd arrived at the motel in record time. Olivia had been so busy assisting with Bates' arrest and then giving her statement that she'd completely forgotten the clothes she was wearing, as well as the fact that her dress was still one-third of the way unzipped. As Olivia left the hotel, holding one of Daryl's arms tightly in her grasp, it finally occurred to her how immodest she appeared when the flashes from the photographers began to sting her eyes. Instinctively, Elliot had removed his suit jacket and wrapped it around his partner's shoulders in an effort to shield her from the scrutinizing camera lenses.

Between the title and the article was a picture that had captured the moment. The protective gesture had been forever emblazoned on film and printed on paper. This was certainly not the first article or photograph that included the mention of Manhattan SVU, specifically Olivia or Elliot, but it _was_ the first one that Olivia had bothered cutting out to save. It had been one of the first times Elliot's touch had caused the goosebump reaction in her body and Olivia had remembered the way she'd had to force herself to not look into his eyes, else he'd see the way her breathing had become erratic and shallow. When she'd gotten the morning paper the next day and seen the look his face had born as he'd considered her his _first_ priority, there was no way she could have read the article and then tossed it aside as she'd always done the others. So she'd carefully trimmed around the typed words and for several nights afterwards she'd fall asleep looking at the picture as it sat propped against her clock radio on her nightstand. After a while, she began to feel foolish and almost obsessed, so she'd thrown it into the shoebox with all her other homeless photographs. When she'd seen the old shoebox sitting on her counter after Lucy and Simon had tidied up from the attack, she'd blatantly refused to watch any more pointless television and do something productive. Pulling from the bookshelf the empty album she'd bought a year ago with good intentions, she began lovingly placing each picture on the pages. When she'd reached the newspaper clipping mixed up in the pile of memories, she'd put a halt to her fruitful work and resumed her position on the couch, content to stare at the picture, the same way she had in the days following Bates' arrest. She'd looked at Elliot's face in the picture and realized it was the same expression he'd worn in the elevator two weeks ago as he'd tried to talk her into a ride home. Protective. Defensive. _Possessive_.

The same look he was using now as he remembered the photograph himself.

_Stop looking at it_, Olivia pleaded with Elliot within herself. _Please stop thinking about it. I can think about it, but if I know that you do, too, I'll crumble inside. I won't be able to take it._

When he had seemingly read her mind and mercifully looked away from the picture, he then did something worse.

He looked at her.


	11. Chapter 11

_**When she'd reached the newspaper clipping mixed up in the pile of memories, she'd put a halt to her fruitful work and resumed her position on the couch, content to stare at the picture, the same way she had in the days following Bates' arrest. She'd looked at Elliot's face in the picture and realized it was the same expression he'd worn in the elevator two weeks ago as he'd tried to talk her into a ride home. Protective. Defensive. Possessive.**_

_**The same look he was using now as he remembered the photograph himself.**_

**Stop looking at it**_**, Olivia pleaded with Elliot within herself. **_**Please stop thinking about it. I can think about it, but if I know that you do, too, I'll crumble inside. I won't be able to take it.**

_**When he had seemingly read her mind and mercifully looked away from the picture, he then did something worse. **_

_**He looked at her**_

Or more importantly, he looked at her _mouth_ as he licked his dry lips.

In a voice low and dangerous, he practically breathed the words, "I never knew you kept this."

Parting her lips to speak, she felt void of words. Taking a breath as though she'd found them, she looked anywhere but into his cobalt eyes—the eyes that knew her so well. The same eyes that pierced her soul and _dared_ her to lie to him.

"I—it," swallowing in an attempt to regain some control of her voice, she narrowly shook her head. Finally settling for, "It was a long time ago. I'd forgotten I even had that until I started rifling through the other photographs." She knew it wasn't just a _picture_ of them that was thickening the air in the room. It was also the _time_ in their lives that the picture represented. The case with Daryl Bates had been the last case before they'd taken on Gitano. The Bates case had just been the prelude to the orchestra of emotions they'd been faced to self-admit because of Gitano's evil stand-off in the warehouse.

Darting her line of sight away from him, she spun towards the fridge. Opening the door, she made a play at being hostess.

"Thirsty? I don't know about you, but I could use a drink."

Elliot watched her stiffly bend towards the cold glass shelves, searching for a distraction. It mystified him how a woman still in so much pain and obviously rigid from bruising, could somehow maintain movement as graceful and fluid as she did. Even when she was not at her physical best, her body still moved swanlike and poised. Despite his better judgment, he also noticed the tight heart-shaped temptation her body created around her butt and thighs as she leaned down in her _short_ NYPD shorts.

Clearing his throat, and his head, before she caught him staring, he answered her offer, "Um, I'm good, thanks. I, uh, I should actually get going."

Straightening his posture with resolve, he waited for her to look at him again before he said his goodbyes. Seeing her attempt to push her physical limits to reach deep into the fridge for what seemed to be one her last bottles of beer, she suddenly retracted with a gasp, her arm instinctively wrapping itself around her abdomen. The quick reaction to her pain caught her off-guard as she hit her head on the fridge, which caused her to neck to hunch down and her footwork began to lose balance. Elliot was there in an instant, catching her with his hands under her armpits.

"Whoa, there—I've gotcha, I've gotcha." Sensing that Olivia's healing upper body was still not ready to stand up fully, he helped her into a sitting position on the kitchen floor. Her face was flushed and she seemed short of breath. Keeping one arm around her shoulders, he used his free hand to rub the spot on the back of her head where it had made contact with the refrigerator.

"Does that feel better?" he asked, concerned as he felt her shudder. Tipping her face upward so he could see what she needed, he was surprised to find her laughing.

"Oh," she groaned as her laughter threatened to continue. "Laughing only makes it worse—oh…I've got to stop." Resting her head on the wall behind her, she closed her eyes and smiled.

"I'm such an idiot. This is so embarrassing."

"You're not an idiot, so don't be embarrassed. The only thing you're guilty of is trying to do too much too soon," he smiled as he chastised her, squeezing her shoulders. "At least you can laugh about it."

"Humph…" she scoffed at him. "If I don't laugh I'm afraid I'll just cry. It doesn't feel like it should be too soon. It's been weeks." He was amused at her sudden pouting. "I've been very tolerant, haven't I? I just want my life to go back to how it was."

Elliot smiled at her impatience. "Don't worry—things will be back to the way they were soon enough." Brushing a hair from her long eyelashes, the laughter in the air suddenly disappeared as he saw the serious expression return to her face.

"Will they? And just what exactly was 'the way things were'? I'm still trying to figure that out." Leave it to Olivia pull the trigger first. She always was faster at drawing her weapon. Maybe it was due to all the practice she'd had being on the defensive. An ugly necessity thrown at her from the day she was born.

"I'm tired of trying to figure it out, El. Tired of this weighing us down. Everything is just so…so fuzzy. I need black and white. I need clarity. Definition. It's time we either move forward without feeling guilty or make a clean break and never look back."

Looking into her mournful eyes, having his arm around her shoulders, his hand caressed her face. He hadn't been this close to her since he'd visited her at the hospital, confessing his demons to her as she slept.

"What are you saying, Olivia? That you want a new partner?"

"I didn't say that. Absolutely not, I don't want to be without you—I tried flying solo once and it didn't work out. I know that regardless of our relationship outside of work, I'm a better cop with you by my side. I just mean that I need to know what kind of partnership we're going to have. I can't walk this tightrope any longer." She sighed as she crossed her outstretched legs on the slate tile floor. It felt cool underneath her bare legs. She fiddled with the drawstring on her shorts waistband. She didn't trust herself to look at him, afraid of her unexpected courage. The last thing she'd anticipated doing tonight was initiating the _one conversation_ they'd both worked _so_ hard at avoiding for three years. "Don't you sometimes wish…well, that we knew where we stood?"

Elliot listened to her as best he could, but his heart was pounding so loudly in his ears it was a strain to process her words. He watched her twist her shorts drawstring round and round her finger. The white rope twisting and covering her skin until the only thing you could see was her fingernail and remaining hand. He felt like that rope might as well be around his lungs. He'd always wondered what he'd say when this discussion was finally here and now that he was face-to-face with it, any previous ideas he may have had, had flown the coop.

He gazed at her long, tan legs, stretched out further than it ought to be possible. He watched the toes on her right foot flex and point, subconsciously, he was sure. Her toes were painted some shade of red. Kathleen would call it "burgundy" or "wine", but to him the only way he could describe it was "lustful". Almost the same color he'd seen her put on her lips when she was touching up her makeup in the locker room. Powerless to remove his eyes from her legs, he was trying to remember if she'd had that same lipstick on when he'd come over tonight.

Realizing she was still waiting for an answer, he decided he needed an answer of his own. Tipping her chin so that he could steal a glance at her lips, he could see that although they were bare from the claret lipstick, they were still full and plump, even inviting. Her questioning eyes stole their own glance at his as she slowly wet her own with the tip of her tongue. His hand was in her hair then, holding her head in place.

Focused on his mouth and in no way noticing their faces getting closer, Olivia was surprised when she felt his soft lips brush against hers. She sucked in whatever air she could before pulling back a small space. At first she felt his hand apply gentle pressure in her hair, resisting her withdrawal.

But then Elliot saw it—written all over her face. _No_, she silently conversed. _I will _not_ be the other woman._

Releasing her with both hands, he began to get up. She stopped him by grasping both hands within her own.

"Wait, Elliot. We need to talk about this."

Standing anyway, he commented, "There's nothing to say. I think we both know that."

"Well, then let me say this." Standing by his side and grabbing his hands again, she was resolute. "I want to make it very clear that what I'm doing right now, I'm doing because I lo—" She squeeze his hands tighter, frustrated at her inability to say the words she so desperately wanted to say. But she couldn't. Not to a married man. Not to him. At least not until he'd said them first.

Continuing, she brought his hands to her heart and pressed them against her chest underneath her hands. Elliot could feel her warmth through the thin t-shirt. Seeking solace away from his eyes, she focused on the buttons of his shirt.

"I'm stopping this before it goes any further because I know that you love Kathy. Because I know you're an honorable man and my worst nightmare would to be someone's _regret_. _Your_ regret." Dropping his hands, she again picked up the white drawstring. "It would destroy your family, Elliot. It would make you miserable and unhappy. I can't be the cause of your unhappiness and we would never survive if we founded our first moments together from disloyalty to your family."

Humbled by her honesty, knowing what it took from her to say those words, he only loved her all the more for her concern towards his family, towards Kathy, towards his honor.

Willing himself to respond in as honest a way with which she had honored him, he lifted her hand to his mouth as he placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles.

"Liv, I…there's so much I want to say to you right now. Things that have been building for years, I think. But you're right. I could never disgrace my family. But most importantly, I could never dishonor you by offering less than you deserve. I'll never be good enough for you _this_ way." She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with the raise of his hand. "Please don't. Let me go on or I'll never make it through this. I think if I reveal too much of how I feel, it will only make things worse. But please allow me this—it's important to me that you know something."

Looking up from the drawstring, he could see her eyes were full of unshed tears. "What?" She asked as she looked for a Kleenex. He could tell she was nervous about what he was going to say and was trying to run away, at least as far away as she could within her kitchen. Elliot grabbed the box from the counter and pulled a tissue through the plastic.

Wiping her tear as it trailed down her cheek, his voice became soft, almost reverent. "I talked to Father Bennion a lot a few weeks ago. He helped me realize something." Tenderly holding her wrists as she stood apprehensively in front of him, he took a large breath. "I love this baby. This little girl, this miracle. Babies are a gift from God and it's humbling to know that God is entrusting another one of His children into my care. But you need to know that if it weren't for this baby, I wouldn't—"

"NO." The firmness in her voice caught Elliot's attention. And if that wouldn't have, the determined motion in which she yanked her arms out of his grasp definitely would have. "No, Elliot. Don't say that. _I can't hear you say that_!"

Like a deer in the headlights, she began backing away from him, the tears coming faster now. She cursed him silently for breaking her like this.

"Liv," he was confused. He reached for her again, even stepped towards her, but she pushed her arms out in front of her, shielding him away as she increased the distance between them.

She could have moved on—accepted the detachment she'd needed to put between them as long as she could believe they _never_ could have been. But to know there was a time he would have considered being _hers_; A time when he would have wanted to move on _with her_, and yet an unforeseeable cruel twist of fate had changed his mind, well, that was unbearable. _That_ was what was going to _break_ her.

It was killing him to see her like this—scared, fragile, and crying. He hadn't expected her to react this way. He knew, as well as she did, that she was right in stopping their kiss. That as much as they loved each other, they were not the kind of people that could be unfaithful to their morals. Unfaithful to themselves. He knew _she_ knew that. But he'd wanted to reassure her that if it weren't for his obligations as a being someone's father again, things would be different.

"Please, Liv. Calm down. This isn't good for you."

"Get out, Elliot." Her voice was escalating now, higher in pitch and louder in tone. "I want you to leave. I _need_ you to leave." She was begging now, and she knew it. She didn't care about her pride any longer. She didn't care that she sounded almost panicked. As if she had to be in the same room with him any longer she would suffocate or break into a million tiny pieces. Shattered and ruined.

"Look, I won't come any closer. Let's just sit down and talk about this."

"Quit talking to me like I'm one of your damn victims!"

"Olivia, I don't understand. Please don't make me leave you like this. Let me take care of you."

"You don't have a _right_ to take care of me. Why can't you understand that? You don't have any obligation toward me like you do your family."

"I don't have a _right_?" Now he was getting upset. "You mean nine years together doesn't give me the _right_ to look out for you?"

"That's exactly what I mean!" Fighting for air as she tried to relieve her aching ribs, she suddenly seemed wore down. Unable to dance around her apartment any longer in this argument. How could she make him comprehend?

Slumping on the couch, she sighed loudly and ran her fingers through her hair with dissatisfaction. In a voice much lower and resolved, she explained, "You see, Elliot, what you don't get is that although we've been together for nine years, it's been as a partnership. Coworkers."

"A coworker? That's all I am to you is a _coworker_?I see. Well, thanks for clearing that up for me." Grabbing his coat as he stepped towards the door, he stopped as she spoke.

"Of course you mean more to me than that. That's the problem. El, I'm at a point in my life, in our partnership, where I've either got to have you for my own or accept you as simply my partner and coworker. This tension between us has got to go away."

Knowing she was drawing a dangerous line that might push him away from her for good, she drew in a ragged breath. "It's killing me, just as I know it's killing you. And since we both know your family comes first—as well it should—then I've got to gain acceptance and move on. I deserve to move on and so do you."

He'd had terrible dreams about this day coming, but never truly thought that it would. That an ultimatum would be placed before them and he'd have to sacrifice both of their happiness for the sake of doing what was right.

Finally understanding what she was trying to say, and realizing why he should never had told her of his confessions to Father Bennion, Elliot simply nodded and said with his head looking downward, "Well, then, I guess we know where we stand now."

Opening the door, he didn't look back as he whispered through his exit, "I'll see ya around, Liv."


	12. Chapter 12  Moving On

**A/N: **_**Blinded **_**never happened—although it had some **_**FAB**_**ulous E/O moments—in regards to this story, boys and girls, let's just use our imaginations and pretend it never occurred.**

Watching Elliot walk out of her apartment, Olivia fought like hell the urge to go after him. To tell him she made a mistake and that she was willing to have any part of him that he could offer her, even if it wasn't his whole self. Turning to her side to lie on the couch, she curled into the fetal position and let the tears fall. For once she didn't hold them in—she knew any attempt would be wasted. She cried for her mother, who wasn't there to comfort her. She cried for Elliot, who was going home to a wife he claimed to no longer love, but for whom he still cared enough to sacrifice any chance he and Olivia may have had. She cried for this baby girl that was coming into a world falling apart due to no fault of its own. She hoped that baby would know how lucky she was to have a father like Elliot. Someone who would always put her happiness before his own. She cried for herself, **for all the love she'd been** **denied** her entire life. The love from a child of her own. The love from a man, the _only_ man, who completely understood her and stuck by her anyway. The love of a father. The unconditional love of a mother, who cared enough to keep her, but failed to circumvent the regret that came with the decision to keep a child that was a constant reminder of the most painful day of her life.

Finally rising from the sofa, Olivia wandered to the bathroom to wash her tear-stained face. She worried that she was denying herself the one prospect of happiness this life would offer her. But then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and her reflection reminded her that she'd made the best decision for both of them. That if she and Elliot were to ever have a chance at a lasting relationship, it would only endure if it had originated under the right circumstances. She may end up old and alone, but at least she'd never have given herself a reason to feel ashamed when she looked in the mirror. At least she'd never robbed another woman of the husband with whom vows had been exchanged. At least she'd never slept with a married man or shamed him away from his children.

Opening the medicine cabinet, Olivia pulled out two brown prescription bottles. Opening one, she shook two square white pills into the palm of her hand. These pills were new to her, but becoming more familiar each day since the attack. Initially she'd refused medication, but the doctor at the hospital had ignored her and written the prescription anyway "just in case". Simon had filled it at his pharmacy and "just in case" turned out to be the first night she'd been released from the sterile facility with its white walls. She'd tried to get comfortable in Simon's guest room, but found her bruises and ribs were more than what she'd expected and she'd felt desperate for reprieve. Thanks to the white capsules, the constant throbbing had left her ribcage. She wished the demons in her head were as easily overcome as her physical ailments. Moving onto the next bottle, she grabbed a tiny blue tablet and swallowed it with a handful of tap water. This round miracle was not so new to her—she'd been taking Ambien for years. Without them, she never would have been able to close her eyes after a horrendous case, or after a bad night fighting with Elliot. Or worse…after a _good_ night with him. The kind of night where they bantered like two detectives had in the early days; banter that was strangely similar to that of a couple married for years. The kind of night where he brushed a hair from her face or helped her with her coat. The kind of night that taunted her with false hopes.

Padding into the kitchen, Olivia leaned over the counter and opened the case files Cragen had sent over. Balancing on the barstool, Olivia tried to concentrate and get some work done. _Anything_ to keep her from thinking about the goings-on in her apartment only an hour earlier. A short twenty minutes had passed when she satisfyingly felt the medication affecting her body. Heading to her bedroom, she crawled under the covers, and waited for sleep to take over.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Pulling into the driveway, Elliot drew in a breath, gearing himself up for the verbal mêlée that was about to ensue. He knew that once Kathy had found out his late arrival was due to a stopover at Olivia's apartment, she'd come undone, accusing him of things deep down she knew probably weren't true, but because they were not far from being possibilities, her insecurities always pushed her over the edge and the allegations would fly, like they always did. Now that he was home and about to face the woman to whom he'd made covenants of trust and fidelity, he was grateful Olivia had enough sense to put a halt to his advances. At her apartment, kneeling in such close proximity, he'd been overcome by desires too long repressed. Now, even though his feelings for Kathy were no longer romantic, he felt relieved that when she _would_ accuse him, he could once again deny her assumptions without lying. At least not completely. He may not have totally crossed the line with Olivia, but for as long as he lived he would never forget the way it felt to have his lips brush across hers. To share the same air. To feel her eternal eyelashes sweep against his temple. He didn't know which was worse living the past three years _wondering_ how it would feel or living the next fifty _knowing_.

Walking towards the house he rolled his eyes at his front lawn under the scrutiny of the street lamp. Until recently, it had been an unseasonably warm November, so his lawn was free from snow. Although it was still untouched by the frosty powder, the dipping temperatures, however, had brought other ground cover onto the yellowing grass—what seemed to be a mountain, rather than a pile, of golden brown maple leaves. Dickie was supposed to have had a date with the metal rake in the garage two days ago.

Reaching for the door as he walked onto the front porch, he called out, "Richard!"

Removing his coat and hanging it in the coat closet, he waited for Dickie's response. When there was none, he called upstairs, "Richard Stabler, why are there still leaves on the lawn?"

"He's not here, Elliot. None of them are." Startled at the voice of his wife coming from the dark kitchen, Elliot walked towards her.

"Kathy, I didn't see you there." Turning to flip on the light, he stated the obvious. "It's pitch black in here. Don't you want some light?"

But as he turned around and saw her sitting alone at the table with a mug placed neatly on the cork coaster in front of her and tissues dabbing at her blotchy, swollen eyes, he realized she'd left the light off on purpose. Pulling out the chair next to her, he sat and reached for her hands, which recoiled from him.

"Kath, what's the matter, honey?" he asked, alarmed. "Where are the kids?"

Picking apart her Kleenex, Kathy answered, "The girls went to go see a movie and Dickie's staying the night at Nathan's."

"How long have you been alone in here?"

"I don't know. Maybe an hour." She started with the corners of the tissue and was now tearing the sides of it, about a quarter of an inch at a time. Ripping from the top down to the bottom methodically.

"What are you doing? Are you sick? Is something wrong with the baby?" It unnerved Elliot to see his wife this way. He was not necessarily surprised by the crying—with the hormones so out of whack she was doing that a lot these days, but it was usually accompanied with irrational yelling and insecurities. At the moment, there was a calm about Kathy that made Elliot nervous. Her voice was far too even and her demeanor blasé. Something definitely wasn't right.

"The baby is fine. And I'm not sick." She rolled her eyes at her husband. "I came in to get a cup of hot chocolate." Picking up her empty mug, she took it to the sink and rinsed it as she spoke. "I drank it and then realized how quiet the house was. Then I just sat and thought about things for a while."

Opening the dishwasher, she placed the ceramic on the top rack and casually finished her statement as she closed the appliance door. "Don't get so wound up, Elliot. Tell yourself it's the hormones like you always do and I'm sure you'll be fine."

Elliot was speechless. Kathy had never spoken to him like that. So obviously upset but with such restraint and internalization.

"That's not fair," he stood, following behind her as she walked towards the coat closet. 

"What's not fair?" she asked, not even bothering to turn around to see his face. "The fact that I might be upset about something that is _not_ involving pregnancy hormones and I'm not in the mood to explain it to you, or is it more that you feel _life_ has dealt _you_ an unfair hand with this pregnancy?"

"I won't talk to you like this," Elliot commanded. "Are you upset because I was late?"

"No. That's something I've come to rely upon over the years. Ironically, the demand of your job was one of the few things in our marriage that was actually consistent and reliable. Besides, I have a pretty good idea you weren't alone, so I wasn't worried."

"Ah," Elliot spoke as if the light bulb had come on and he'd answered the prize riddle. "So your mad because I was with Olivia. You won't believe this, but it was work-related. Cragen asked me to drop off some case files to her."

Holding up her hand to silence him, Kathy spoke unexpectedly without any tone of bitterness or jealousy in her voice. "Yes, I assumed you were with Olivia, but I'm not angry about it. Whether or not you want to believe me is up to you, but at this point I don't really care. She's your partner, Elliot, and I know I can trust you." Trying to pull her coat from the closet, she gestured for Elliot to move as he was in her way. "Now if you'll excuse me."

He didn't budge, so she stepped around him. Annoyed at the games she was playing, Elliot sighed, "If something is bothering you, I would hope that you would clue me in, let me help you. Believe it or not, I'm not completely unfeeling. I do care for my family. But I'm not going to _beg_ you to tell me."

"I know you care for your family, Elliot. I even know that you care for me, although you won't admit that it's not in the way a husband cares for his wife." By now Kathy had on her coat, which no longer buttoned around her swollen belly and was slinging her purse over her shoulder. "I need to get some air. I'm going for a drive."

Sighing, she placed her hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, a gesture of goodwill. "Don't wait up, and don't worry. I'll be back in a few hours. The girls should be home any time, so watch for them, will you?"

For the first time, Elliot realized his wife was going through something complex. And it wasn't just being pregnant at a time in her life when she thought she was finished with diapers and baby food. He hated the mysteriousness, the vague answers. He felt regret over their entire relationship. Not regret for the family they'd created and loved together, but regret in the sense that as her husband, if he had _really_ been there for her, shouldn't he _know_ what was bothering her? Or shouldn't he at least be the kind of husband that if he didn't know, she'd _want_ to tell him and would feel comfortable doing so?

Kathy was a good mother, and she'd been a good wife. She'd been more than anyone could have expected from a woman married to a man that not only worked appalling hours, but who came home from a job emotionally drained with hardly anything leftover to give to her. It bothered Elliot that she was struggling with something seemingly alone when he should be the one person she should turn to. He contemplated going after her, but then thought better of it and decided to give her the space that she'd requested.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

It had been a week since that night and Kathy still wasn't acting herself. She began sleeping in the den, until Elliot finally told her that if she was going to insist they sleep in different bedrooms, Elliot would take the den—no pregnant wife of his was going to be spending her nights on a lumpy couch that was a hand-me-down from Uncle Frank.

He could tell she did her best to appear "normal" in front of the kids, but even they could sense something was up long before Kathy had taken to separate sleeping quarters. Approaching the kitchen one morning, Elliot had overheard Dickie asking Kathleen why _he_ had to be the one to pick her up from her community service, and Kathleen had responded that "Mom" had another appointment with Father Bennion and wouldn't be available.

Then Elliot had heard Lizzie join the conversation with "Again? What's going on? And why is she crying all the time? If this is what having a baby does to you, count me out! Was she this way when she was pregnant with me?"

"Who wouldn't have been?" Kathleen teased her younger sister.

"Aren't pregnant women supposed to cry a lot?" Dickie offered his expertise.

"Not _this_ much—at least I don't think so. She thinks I don't hear her at night, but my room is right next to her bathroom and she's always in there late at night. One time I went in to see if she was okay and she told me to just go back to bed," Kathleen said.

Worried they might find him eavesdropping; Elliot coughed just before he entered the kitchen, making his presence known. The three teenagers quickly preoccupied themselves with something else, most of them leaving the room. Liz stayed behind.

Giving her father a hug before she grabbed an apple and left through the back door, she whispered in his ear, "It's okay, Dad. We all know you're trying."

The next day Olivia made her re-entry into the bullpen with the energy of a Tasmanian devil. She'd been alone too much, given too much time to think, and not enough time keeping busy doing what she did best: helping the victims. There was only so much she could do working from home. Bringing in a bag of bagels for everyone, she gave a melodic "Good morning!"

As she dug in the paper sack for the tubs of cream cheese and plastic knives, Munch stepped close to her and gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek.

"Welcome back, Liv. It will be nice to have a face worth looking at around here again."

Squeezing his elbow with a smile as wide as the Washington Bridge, she gave a small chuckle. "Thanks, John. I've missed you, too."

"Detective Benson, glad to see you're back in full force. May I?" Chester asked as he pulled out an onion bagel. Olivia nodded her permission wholeheartedly.

"Man, if you eat that you can forget about working closer than twenty feet with me anytime today," Fin snipped at Lake, pointing to the bagel of topic. "I ain't gonna be forced to get a whiff of your stinky onion breath, even if I _am_ getting paid."

Olivia laughed. Boy, was it ever great to be back. She'd never admit it to anyone, but she still felt stiff, and if she moved the wrong way the pain would momentarily return. But she knew that in order to heal quickly, the best thing she could do was to get busy again. Get back to what was familiar and comfortable.

And then _he_ walked in. The antithesis of comfortable, but unfortunately the parallel of familiar. _Too familiar_. Doing her best to appear as though his presence had no affect on her, she smiled at him and offered him a bagel. She laughed as if on cue at Munch's joke, which she only hazily heard on the surface, since all thoughts were bouncing back and forth between the tender kiss that they'd shared at her apartment a week earlier and the way she needed to _prove_ to him that she'd never given that blasted kiss a second thought. She didn't know if she was succeeding, whether or not he was buying her little charade. She knew she was giving it her all, but she worried she still appeared rigid. Counterfeit. Transparent.

Fortunately, she was saved from his dissecting eye when the telephone on her desk interrupted the morning repartee.

"Benson."

"_So the rumors aren't true. You didn't run away with the circus, after all."_

"Casey," Olivia smiled as she recognized the voice of the caller. "I'm not here ten minutes and you're already harassing me."

"_Well, I knew if I bothered you at home anymore you might take legal action, so I decided to take a different approach and bother you at work."_

"That plan works for me as long as it puts me back here instead of wearing out a path in my apartment. I was beginning to feel like I was going in circles trying to keep myself entertained."

"_Some of us have shorter attention spans than others, I suppose."_

Hearing Casey's other line, Olivia asked, "I heard that. Do you need to go?"

Dripping with sarcasm, Casey responded, _"Oh, it's _only_ my boss_, _but I guess I'd better play it safe and talk to him. Listen, I was calling to see if you wanted to grab some lunch?"_

"Sure, that sounds wonderful."

"_Kay. I'll call you later and we'll pick a place to meet. Bye."_

"See ya later."

----------------------------------------------

"Can I pick up anything for you, El?" Olivia generously offered Elliot, who was obviously planning on skipping his lunch break with paperwork as an excuse.

"No, thanks anyway," he stated flatly, never looking up from his desk. He glanced up just in time to see Olivia walking out the door.

_Damn her_, he thought to himself. _Damn her for making it look so easy_. So easy to forget, in only seven days, a night of near-confessions. A night of nearly crossing the line. A night of finally letting go of any chance they may have had. How can she waltz in here, bringing her bagels and her electric smile, as if nothing had happened? Worse yet, acting as if a weight had been lifted and she was free from any expectations she may have had. Unless…

His eyes widening at the realization, Elliot sat up in his chair as he chewed on the end of the pen in his hand. Unless she'd already built that wall. The wall that had begun to crumble the minute Gitano had thrust his knife at her throat, knocking down the first brick. Brick-by-brick over the next ten months Olivia had slowly tried to let Elliot in. Tried to trust him enough to let him get close to her again. The final brick being tossed aside as he had fostered his regrets and fears holding her hand in her hospital room after Blackner's attack.

He'd seen it in her eyes then. The complete trust. The vulnerability. The willingness to put it all on the line for him. And she'd seen it in his, too, thanks to Father Bennion's comments about God _wanting_ us to be happy.

And then? Then he'd let his pants get in the way when he'd tried kissing her at her apartment. She wasn't even healed yet and he was already pouncing, concerned only about his longing, his desires. But she had been so beautiful. She was _always_ so _beautiful_. It wasn't natural for a woman like that to be alone. _**He**_ wanted to be the one at he side. Her friend. Her constant companion, attending to her needs, her wants, her desires. Her _lover_.

And now she'd rebuilt the wall. In record time, he might add. What originally took years to construct was destroyed in months and then rebuilt within a week. He knew now _that_ was the reason behind the offhand work façade. That she was feeling as much, if not more, anguish and her survival tactics had kicked in, reminding her that the lower her expectations, the thicker the wall. The greater protection. The least chance of annihilation, which is what he knew she feared from expecting anything more from him other than coworker or partner.

He loved her. He'd do anything for her. Reminding himself of this, he told himself that if distance was what she needed from him to forget about what might have been, than that was what he'd give her.

---------------------------------------

At lunch Casey had been a godsend. They'd chosen a little diner about a block from the courthouse, since an arraignment had been rescheduled and Casey's break was now considerably shorter.

"Have you ever tried the peach cobbler?" Casey asked as she licked her lips in anticipation of her dessert's arrival.

"No, but just watching you may be enough to satisfy any cravings I may ever have for it," Olivia laughed. "I had no idea you had such a sweet tooth, Counselor!"

"Normally, I try to be a good girl and avoid the sinful sweets, but this…Liv, you've got to try it. It's better than Mom would make."

Olivia laughed again. "Hmm…I'd say with my mother, that's likely a safe bet."

Just then, the waitress arrived with the golden dessert.

"Mmmm," drooled Casey, as she pierced it with her fork, slowly and purposefully. "_Hel_lo, sin."

Raising an eyebrow, Olivia picked up her own fork. "Okay, okay. Let's see what all the fuss is about."

Filling her mouth with a warm bite, she had to admit that the peaches and cake _did_ seem to melt on one's tongue.

"Hmmm?" Casey asked for Olivia's opinion.

A nod of her head designated her approval.

"So how is it being back?" Casey inquired.

"It's alright. I still feel stiff, but I think now that I'm actually doing something, my body should be able to work through it and loosen up."

"That's good to know, but it's not what I meant. I meant how are things with you and Elliot?"

"Oh. Um, they're good, I guess. It's always, uh, you know, kind of stressful when a partnership goes through, uh, a scare like that. But we're getting back to normal."

"Normal? No offense, Liv, but you two were _never_ a normal partnership."

"True, but…well, you know what I mean." Reaching over to Casey's plate, Olivia took another bite to avoid discussing Elliot any further. "Got any fun plans for Thanksgiving?" Olivia asked, eager to change the subject.

"Headed to Boston to meet my mom's newest boyfriend," Casey rolled her eyes. "My dad's been gone for six years and in that time I think my mom has dated or been engaged to at least ten men. Do you know how humiliating it is knowing that your own _mother_ dates more than you do? The truth is that I don't think she knows how to be alone after thirty years of marriage to the love of her life." She sighed. "Oh, well. At least my sister will be there—she's always good for a laugh." Her eyes lighting up with an idea, Casey asked Olivia, "Want to come? I'm sure they'd love to have you."

"Oh, no thanks. I really appreciate the offer but—"

"Come on, Liv. Don't spend another holiday cooped up in your apartment. Especially after, you know…what just happened."

"Actually, I was going to say that I have plans already. Simon and Lucy invited me to their place." Olivia smiled, proud that she could finally use her own family as an excuse in her polite rejections to the pity-invites she received every Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. "But thanks for thinking of me."

They sat in comfortable silence, picking at the leftover crumbs on the plate.

Olivia sighed and finally spoke. "Andrea Millecam's apartment isn't empty anymore. An older couple moved in last week. They seem nice. The woman, especially. Her name is Betty." She ran her fingers through her hair as she sighed again. "I spent some time talking to her last week in the laundry room. She's very sweet. They've been married longer than I've been alive."

Casey just looked at her, lending an ear to a friend whom she could tell was in need of one.

Olivia looked down, embarrassed at the emotions she was still feeling about Andrea's death. "I…I guess I just didn't expect to feel this way. I hardly knew her."

"You don't have to be best friends with somebody to be affected by their death. And let's remember here that Andrea's death was vicious, and then her killer came after you, making it even more personal."

Placing her hand over her friend's, Casey reassured Olivia. "You're entitled to experience some heavy emotions here, Liv. You've been through a hellacious ordeal."

A moment passed and Casey's phone began to ring.

"Guess that's my cue," she said as she dropped a couple bills on the table for the tip. "I'd better get going."

"Yeah, me, too," Olivia said, grabbing her purse. "Thanks for lunch, Case. Let's do it again soon."

"Sounds good," Casey observed Olivia stopping at the register. "You coming?"

"In a minute. I'm gonna grab some cobbler for Elliot before I go. I'll see you later."

--------------------------------------------

The weekend at home was ironic—at least Elliot found it to be so. The one weekend he wouldn't have minded catching a case, having an excuse to get out of the house, his cell phone was quiet, still. He didn't know how much more he could take of this. He'd never seen Kathy like this. He'd blame it on the pregnancy alone, but she'd never been like this before. Not once with the other three pregnancies had she gone _days_ without speaking to anyone outside the civil niceties. The polite "Excuse me" in the hallway or "No thanks" when offered a sandwich. She kept to herself in her bedroom, frequently heard to be crying or quietly talking, as if to herself. As if having a debate, but with whom, Elliot didn't know, other than with herself. No one could ever hear her loud enough to know exactly what she was saying. Maybe she was praying. Elliot had tried to get through to her, but she continued to shut him out.

Just like another woman he knew.

At church on Sunday, Kathy had left partway through the sermon and didn't return. Afterwards, Elliot went to look for her. First he tried the Ladies room. Nothing. Then he checked outside. Finally, Father Bennion found him the entryway and told him that Kathy was in his office waiting. Kathy had asked the priest to find Elliot and instruct him to take the children home, that she would find her own way back when she was finished at St. Ann's.

"Father, do you know what's going on?" Elliot asked, desperation in his eyes, pleading for any answers he might receive to explain Kathy's unusual behavior.

"I know you are concerned, Elliot. But I really can't say much without breaking her confidence."

"You mean Kathy's come to you before?" Elliot asked incredulously with widened eyes.

"Yes, as a matter of fact she has." A patronizing chuckle escaped Father Bennion's lips. "Did you think _you_ were the _only_ parishioner who needed someone to listen, someone to give advice?"

"No, I just…Well, I didn't know that she…Why wouldn't she come to me first?"

"Maybe for the same reason you didn't go to her when you needed someone."

For the first time, Elliot realized that it was possible Kathy did not need him as much as he had thought. That there were needs he could not fulfill for her. This tore at his core, as he felt even more a failure in this marriage.

Gently touching his shoulder and guiding him towards the door, where Elliot's children were waiting, Father Bennion tried to console the _man_ he'd known long before he'd become such. "Elliot, Kathy has reached a crossroads in her life and she's just trying to make sense of it all. I'm confident she will come to you when she is ready. Until then, do your best to be patient with her. Loving. Understanding." Then, taking a breath, the priest added one more request. "And forgiving. None of us are without sin."

"What are you saying?" Elliot asked nervously.

"Dad, can we go now? We've been standing here for like, _hours,_ and we're _hungry_," Kathleen whined, interrupting the two men in their conversation.

"Yeah, Dad. Let's go, okay?" Lizzie chimed.

Facing his children, Elliot tried to give them the attention they needed. Not wanting to say much to Father Bennion in front of them, he simply shook the clergyman's hand and requested, "Take care of her, Father. Regardless of what she may think, I still love her and it hurts me to see her unhappy."

"She knows that. That's what makes what she's going through so difficult. But I'll tell her just the same."

Looking at the three teenagers in front of him, Father Bennion offered his goodbyes. Winking at them, he said, "Thank you for coming, children. Now that you have been spiritually fed, go home and feed your stomachs."

----------------------------

Balancing a small bag of groceries in one hand and her mail and keys in the other, Betty Schmidt tried to open her apartment door.

"Here, let me help you." Betty heard a voice behind her laced with kindness. She recognized it as the tall brunette who lived a few doors down. Her neighbor quickly relieved the burden of holding the grocery bag and collection of mail, making it entirely easier to unlock the door.

"Thank you, Olivia. Before you came I was just thinking about how foolish I was not to have set the bag onto the floor before attempting to do three things at once!"

"Don't give it a second thought," Olivia smiled softly. Remembering the moment before her attack, as she'd fumbled with her own keys and a grocery bag, her voice became quiet and her eyes stared off to the side. "I've been guilty of it myself before."

Betty had always been good with people, had an intuition for their state of mind. And what she just sensed from her sweet new friend was the slightest twinge of fear. And lots of regret, partnered with loneliness. Giving her a moment to reflect, Betty finally said, "Do you want to talk about it, honey?"

"What? I'm sorry—I must have zoned out for a second." Olivia was brought out of her trance, out of her dark memory, and was now looking at the mannerly lady with the round face and permed white hair in confusion. "Talk about what?"

"What bothered you just now." Pushing open her door and leaving Olivia holding the groceries and mail, with no choice other than to follow her inside, Betty stepped into her kitchen, indicating where Olivia could place the paper sack.

Pulling a chair out for Olivia, she continued to press the younger woman. "Please, sit down."

"Uh, I really shouldn't," Olivia motioned with her hand back towards the door.

"Why not?" Betty asked boldly. "Do you have somewhere you need to be?"

"Well, no, not really. I just—"

"Just what? Don't want to admit that anything is wrong? Bothering you?" Once again Betty was signifying where she wanted Olivia to sit. Patting the green vinyl chair, Betty insisted Olivia sit. Not wanting to be rude, Olivia obliged the woman and noticed the look of self-satisfaction upon her wrinkled face.

"So…spill it. What were you thinking about in the hallway?"

"Oh, well, it really wasn't anything. I just remembered…I mean…" Frustrated at her inability to put thought into word, she took a deep breath. "Maybe you heard that I was attacked as I was entering my apartment nearly a month ago?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I had heard about it. No wonder being in the hallway bothers you."

"I don't know why it still does. It was so long ago."

"So long ago? Honey, your sense of time is a little warped. Four weeks is not a long time. It's a blink—trust me. Even fifty years ago seems like a blink from now." Standing up to fill a teapot with water, Betty kindly shook her head at Olivia. "Don't rush the healing process, dear. It will take time to recover from your vulnerability."

Stretching to reach the teacups on the third shelf in the cabinet above the sink, Betty sheepishly looked to Olivia for help.

"It's difficult for me as a police detective to overcome the idea that I wasn't able to see it coming. Able to protect myself," Olivia found herself opening up to this woman. She felt comfortable with Betty, as if she was the grandmother she'd never known. Retrieving two teacups with plates, she smiled as she placed them onto the counter and returned to the chair.

"You're not a psychic, Olivia. And it looks to me like you were more than capable in protecting yourself. And without a traditional weapon—what was it you used on the intruder?" Betty glanced at Olivia from the corner of her eye, an eye that had a playful twinkle in it.

Olivia couldn't help but grin with the slightest bit of pride in herself. "It was a book. One from an old Human Behavior class from my college days. I always wondered why I hung onto it."

"Well, I guess now we know, don't we?" Betty smirked out loud. Olivia relaxed and let herself share a laugh with her pseudo-grandmother over her victorious outcome with Blackner.

"Do you…have any family around to help you get through this?" Betty asked hesitantly. "I don't want to seem nosy, but I have never seen anyone coming over to your place." Betty busied herself with the teabags as she waited for Olivia's answer.

"I do have a brother and sister-in-law. They've been wonderful. In fact, I stayed with them the first week after the hospital." Olivia fiddled with the crocheted doily on the center of the table. "And, I have friends. Mostly from work."

"Yes, I'd imagine with your line of work you'd have to have a deep camaraderie with one another. Especially between partnerships." Betty handed Olivia's cup to her and then sat down opposite Olivia. "Do you take milk or sugar with your tea?"

"Neither, thanks. I'm actually a honey kind of gal."

"Oh! Well, then honey, let me get you some honey!" Betty stood and pulled a plastic bear full of honey out of her cupboard. Watching Olivia squeeze a teaspoon-full into the hot liquid, Betty asked about Olivia's work.

"So how long have you been a detective?"

"Ten years this spring," Olivia answered after swallowing. "Nine years in SVU."

"SVU? What does that mean?" Betty asked.

Olivia gave a job description as delicately and non-detailed as possible.

"Sounds gruesome. How do you do it?" Betty shook her head in disgust at the criminals that roamed the city streets.

"Basically, I try to not answer that question. If I do, I just go crazy." Sipping her tea, Olivia tried to help Betty understand. "Most detectives stay a couple years. But, it's taking me a little bit longer."

"Longer for what?" Betty appeared quizzical.

"I…have been searching for answers, I guess." Opening herself even further with this woman, in ways that she'd done with very few people, Olivia told Betty about how her life began. How in her mind, she was here at the sacrifice of her mother's life. That her mother gave her life, her chances for happiness, in order for Olivia to be born and a part of this world.

"What about your partner? Have you had several during your career with sex crimes?"

"No, actually. I've just had one. And he's…" Olivia trailed off, unsure if she wanted to continue her sentence.

"He's what?"

"He's, well, he's the only one I'd ever want."

"After that many years together, I guess you grow pretty close."

"Yes, we are. At least we used to be." Noting Betty's confusion, Olivia clarified. "It's been 'strained' between us for a while now."

"Why? Tired of being partnered with one another?"

"No! I mean, we work very well together. We trust each other and know one another's moves before they even happen." Olivia fidgeted in her seat, obviously at a loss on how to answer Betty's questions. "There's just so much history. So many…feelings."

"Ooooohhh." Betty nodded in understanding. "You're trying to be professional when all you feel for each other is personal."

"Well," Olivia defended herself as she choked on her swallow of tea. "They're not just personal feelings. But when you entrust your life day-in and day-out with another person, how can it _not_ be personal?"

"And this partner, uh, what's his name?"

"Detective Stabler. Elliot."

"Elliot. So Elliot…does he feel the same way?"

"I honestly don't know. There are times when we fight and the tension and anger is so thick and heavy. And then I'll look at him and catch his eye and suddenly, it doesn't feel like tension anymore. It just feels like…"

"Like love? Chemistry? Passion? Sex?"

Olivia stared wide-eyed at Betty's audacious words.

"What?" Betty spit back incredulously. "You think just because I'm over eighty I've never felt that way about a man before? I _am_ married, you know. Tom was my first husband and now I have Jim. I've been lucky enough to feel that way twice in my lifetime. Actually thrice, if you count Saul. But I tend to not count that one because our relationship was never," Betty suddenly whispered the final word, "_consummated_. He _was_ married, after all."

For the second time in an hour, Olivia nearly choked on her beverage.

"Betty! Why you're just full of surprises, now aren't you?" Olivia teased. "I never would have guessed."

"Well, one has to have their secrets, you know. But that story we'll have to save for another pot of tea. Tell me more about your Elliot. What's holding you back?"

"Uh, well, a lot of things. Our partnership for one. Our work. We're both dedicated and I don't think either of us are willing to give it up. But the, uh, most important complication is that he uh, is, well…"

"You don't have to say it, honey. I know that look. He's married, isn't he?"

"Technically yes. But I want you to know, Betty, that I would never, _ever_ try to seduce or steal another woman's husband. I have the utmost respect for the vows Elliot and his wife have exchanged. Elliot and I have never been inappropriate." Olivia's mind flashed back to the soft kiss he'd planted on her lips just seconds before she'd come to her senses. "These feelings didn't surface until he had separated from his wife. They remained separated for a number of years. And then he had signed the divorce papers. I thought, finally, maybe…" Stirring her tea with her spoon, Olivia fought back the tears that were threatening to fall. "Anyway, it's over now. He's back with his wife and they're having another baby. And he's happy. So I'm happy. For him. For them."

"At least you're trying to be. I can see that, Olivia. You don't have to justify yourself to me. I know a little something of what you're going through. And if your situation is anything like what I think it is, this Elliot is probably as miserable as you are. But be proud of yourself. Be proud that you've done the right thing—stayed your course and remained true to who you are."

Olivia was crying now, her head buried in her arm on the table. Betty was rubbing her back in small circles and it was the first time in a long time Olivia felt comforted. Felt validated. Felt peace.

Betty was patient with Olivia as her tears began to dry. Betty's arms, warm with love, embraced the slender woman and her heart ached for Olivia to feel comfort. To not feel so alone.

They visited for a few more minutes before Jim came home from his walk around the block. Olivia was moved when she saw Jim cross the threshold to take Betty's hands in his and plant a tender kiss upon her forehead. Olivia thought about Betty's confession, about feeling that love and passion for two (make it three) men in her life and it gave Olivia hope. Hope that if she could feel it once with Elliot, maybe she could learn to feel it for another man somewhere down the line. She knew Betty was right and that eventually, her _desire_ to feel happy for Elliot and Kathy might come to be _genuine, _if she could just learn to move on.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Okay, wasn't "**_**Paternity**_**" **_**awe**_**some? Loved those E/O moments ("**_**the**_** hug") and let's face it: who didn't already know Liv was heroic! But as wonderful as it was, ****it didn't happen people****. Not in this story's world. Hopefully my update has not taken so long that you have to go back to Chapter 12 to remember where we left off!**

The first days at the One-Six that week had proven trying. Late Sunday night a call had come in for a raped and tortured prostitute named Seneca Cameron found dead in a stairwell near Times Square. Hours passed as they worked towards defining a suspect and none of the detectives received, or _wanted_, a break until well into Monday evening. They'd worked tirelessly, dedicated to bringing Seneca some justice. Just a kid from Oklahoma trying to make it big on Broadway, it had broken Olivia's heart to see Seneca's parents breakdown after identifying the body Monday afternoon. They'd caught a flight Monday morning and had gone straight to the morgue from the airport, still shell-shocked from the news that their baby girl was never coming home for Thanksgiving like they'd planned.

It was Seneca's parents that gave the detectives the breakthrough they needed. Although they'd had no idea of their daughter's "night job", they told Captain Cragen that their daughter had spoken of a man harassing her. Someone Seneca had "met at work named Phillip Butler". Seneca had even been contemplating taking legal action.

Not surprisingly, it turns out Mr. Butler was a hard man to find those days. His apartment was a pig sty, but void of any occupant and his employer hadn't seen him since Friday. At last one of Phillip's "loyal" friends tipped Elliot off about a certain bar Phillip liked to frequent. Sure enough, at 11:30 Monday night, there was Butler on a barstool, nursing his guilty conscience.

The detectives split up—Elliot and Olivia and Chester were commanded to go home to sleep, while Munch and Fin brought their new buddy Phil in for questioning all night. By the time the rested three returned late Tuesday morning, Phillip had been singing his confession to the A.D.A.'s delight and was ready to officially plead guilty.

"Feels good to know that at least the Camerons can go home knowing their daughter's killer is going to trial," said Lake.

"Yeah, I'm sure their Thanksgiving is going to be _real_ wonderful _now_," Munch grumbled cynically as he grabbed his overcoat and prepared to leave.

"That's not what I meant—", Chester began.

Seeing John leave, Olivia tried to reassure the newer detective. "Don't worry about him. He's just tired. And don't let him fool you. He's as relieved as you are for Mr. and Mrs. Cameron."

The remainder of the day was unusually quiet, giving the detectives an opportunity to finish up on paperwork. As evening drew near, Cragen entered the bullpen with an announcement.

"At this blessed rate, I don't think it's necessary that everyone needs to work in the office over the holiday. Munch, Fin, Olivia, you come in tomorrow to work and then you'll have Thanksgiving off before you come back on Friday. Elliot and Chester, enjoy the break tomorrow because it's your year to work on Thursday and on-call Friday."

Elliot gestured compliance without argument, but it was obvious he was disappointed he wouldn't be with his children.

"Captain, I'd already planned on working Thursday," Olivia spoke up, almost timidly.

"Why? I never told you I needed you here."

"I just assumed. I've worked on Thanksgiving nearly every year."

"Yeah, but that was always voluntary because you claimed you didn't have anywhere else to be. Aren't you going to be with your brother?"

"Yes, but because I thought I was working, Simon arranged to have their Thanksgiving dinner on Friday instead," Olivia explained. "Since my schedule is already worked out, let someone else have the day off. I don't mind, really, and then I could be on-call Friday."

Rubbing his bald head, Cragen shrugged his shoulders. "Sounds fine to me. Detective Stabler, it looks like you'll get to carve the bird after all. Now everyone go home." Pointing to Munch and Fin as he turned back to his office, Captain finished with, "I'll see you two tomorrow morning with Elliot. And don't be late!"

Biding his time until everyone else had left, Elliot walked Olivia out.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," Elliot said, referring to Olivia's generous shift exchange. 

"Of course! I'd already arranged to spend Friday with Simon, so it worked out best for all of us. I'm just happy you'll get to be with your family," Olivia smiled, but avoided eye contact.

"Oh, damn!" Olivia blurted. Elliot looked at her quizzically. "I forgot my scarf! You go ahead. I'm gonna go back and get it."

Pulling on her gloves, she was surprised when Elliot stopped her and tenderly placed his hand on her neck. Giving it a soft squeeze, he smiled and said, "You're a good person, Liv. I hope you know that." Then he quickened his pace and caught the elevator with Munch before it closed. "Good night, Liv. Happy Thanksgiving."

Shaken from Elliot's gesture of affection, Olivia walked back to the coat rack for a scarf she already knew wasn't there. She'd known from the start she hadn't worn a scarf today, but she couldn't stand to hear him thank her for letting him be with his family. And then to make matters worse, he had branded his fingerprints on the side of her neck. Without thinking, Olivia placed her hand where his hand been not even a minute earlier. Her skin felt like it was on fire. She almost worried her own fingers would smolder by touching it. Unable to move, her eyes focusing on nothing in particular. He _never_ touched her. Never in nine years. It just wasn't something that they did. For a while, Olivia had wondered why they were so afraid of personal contact with each other. But then after Gitano, she realized that subconsciously, they both knew that keeping the distance, that final line drawn, and uncrossed, served as the only barrier stopping them. That avoiding the smallest brush of skin, the most insignificant touch was imperative to avoiding full-on grabbing, needing, reaching. Taking possession. And now, ever since Blackner, he _kept_ touching her. It wasn't just unsettling. It was caustic and destructive. Slowly chipping away at her self-preservation tactics until she feared she'd have none left and then what? She'd still be alone, only this time too weak to absorb the shock because any remaining dignity or confidence would be too miniscule to buoy her up. She'd sink in her own self-pity. And loneliness. She was always left alone.

"Olivia?" The sound of her own name was startling, and surprisingly foreign. It took her a full second to register that the voice was speaking to her, and from whom the voice was coming. She turned towards it and did her best to smile.

"Yeah, Cap?"

Concern spread across Cragen's face as he placed his hands on his hips. "Are you okay? I thought I sent you home."

"Uh, yeah," Olivia spoke as though she was confused, as though she'd be nothing but okay. "I just forgot my scarf."

"Did you lose it? I don't see it on the coat rack."

"I mean, I thought I forgot it so I came back for it, but I just remembered I didn't bring it today." Shit. Could she fumble through this conversation any more stupidly?

Raising an eyebrow, Cragen humored her. "Mm-Hm. Good night, Detective. Try to relax on your day off."

And relax she did. Other than a quick grocery run, because as usual her fridge looked empty and she needed ingredients for a salad she was taking to Simon's on Friday, Olivia made a point not to go out. Instead she ran on her treadmill for an hour, and then spent the day leisurely taking a bubble bath, watching reruns on TV Land, and drinking tall mugs of tea. She ended the day sitting on her window bench with Tony Bennett serenading her in the background. She watched the little girl in the apartment across the street help her parents put up the Christmas tree. Olivia thought it was odd that they were erecting a Christmas decoration in preparation for a Thanksgiving holiday, but then decided that she was grateful that little girl had that kind of family, and those kind of experiences, and that it didn't matter how early they put their tree up. Just as long as they did it and that little girl could have the memory of it.

The next morning she strode into work at eight o'clock surprised to find Chester sitting at his desk filing papers already.

"Well, aren't we the over-achiever?" Olivia teased. "By the looks of the pile you've completed you didn't just arrive. How long have you been here?"

"Not too bad. Only a couple hours."

"Why so early? Don't you need your beauty sleep?"

"Need it, yeah. But I don't get it." Stretching his arms above his head and rolling his head around, Olivia flinched when she heard Lake's neck pop. "I couldn't sleep, so I walked around a bit and then figured I might as well be getting some work done. So I came here."

"Ah, insomnia. It's a bitch, ain't it?"

"You, too?" Lake leaned over his desk, interested to know he wasn't the only one awake at two a.m. every day.

"Everyone here has trouble sleeping. Who wouldn't?" Now Olivia leaned over, as if she had some great undisclosed detail to tell. "But I became friends with Ambien a long time ago, so now it's not as big of a problem."

Both detectives sat up straighter, now that the cat was out of the bag. "I warn you though, it's not a cure-all. I still have my fair share of nights when what I've seen is still too much, even for prescription-strength. Or worse yet, there are the nights when sleeping only makes it worse, because you see the vics in your dreams."

Lake's phone rang then, ending the conversation. They both got back to work. Surprisingly, it was a quiet day. It appeared that even criminals took the day off on Thanksgiving.

--------------------------------

Unfortunately for Elliot, his Thanksgiving wasn't that uneventful. It had started out just fine. The kids had been ecstatic to know that their father wasn't going into work, and the looks on their faces only implanted even more Elliot's gratitude for Olivia's unselfishness. It also put her face in his head, and when that happened it seemed to take hours for her to leave. He thought about all the Thanksgivings she'd spent alone. All the Christmases. She'd come to their house once for the feast, and even though he'd known she was grateful for the invitation, she'd been uncomfortable the entire time. Out of her element. As if it was something new to her, something she'd never known. Elliot hated Olivia's mother for never providing her the opportunity to enjoy a Thanksgiving meal around a crowded table, with kids running around, making too much noise, being too hyper. The family helping clear the table and doing dishes. Putting leftover food into Tupperware and trying to find room in the fridge for it all. Watching football or movies after the meal. Everyone commenting how full they are, and yet having two slices of pie instead of one because they all look too good to only try one kind. Damn that Serena Benson for not letting her daughter have that kind of life, that kind of love! Because if anyone deserved it, it was Olivia. It was beyond Elliot how Olivia didn't grow up hard and bitter. He thanked God that at least she was able to rise above and become the woman that she was: dedicated, compassionate, selfless.

Everyone was ready to leave by three. Everyone but Kathy. Elliot sent the kids to the car while he went upstairs to check on her. When he found her, she was dressed, but her hair was still wet from the shower and her make-up not on.

"Kathy, why aren't you ready?" Elliot asked in a gentle voice. He'd learned quickly over the past couple weeks to handle her with kid gloves. That the slightest tone of accusation or frustration only set off her emotions even more. "The kids are all in the car, ready to go to your mothers for dinner."

When she made no effort to move, or even blink, Elliot sat next to her on the bed.

"Is there something I can do to help you get ready? Would you like me to blow-dry your hair? You can take your make-up with you in the car—"

"I'm not going, Elliot."

Elliot had worried this would happen.

"Kathy, it's Thanksgiving. The kids need you." He sighed, praying to God that he'd know what to say to get through to her. "I…I know you're going through something right now. I don't know what it is. I wish you'd tell me—"

Kathy opened her mouth to speak, turning to look at him for the first time. Elliot stopped her, raising his hand to indicate he wasn't finished.

"I wish you'd tell me, but I know you're not ready. When you are, I hope you know that I love you and we can work through it. Until then, I'm willing to give you the time and space you need. This stress is not good for you or the baby."

Taking a deep breath, which he hoped would bring on more patience, he continued. "That said, however, today is a day which families spend _together_. Your children need you. And I think it would be good for you to be with family. Your mother. We don't have to stay long—"

"I _lied_ to you about this baby, Elliot!"

Covering her mouth with her hand as if her voice had spoken without her approval, Kathy turned from Elliot in shame.

Unsure if he'd heard her correctly, Elliot did his best to continue demonstrating patience. With a voice so level it surprised even himself, Elliot asked, "What did you say? What are you talking about?"

"You heard me. Don't make me say it twice," Kathy answered, eerily calm. Or perhaps it was more resolved. Resolve for and accepting of the consequences of her confession.

Without saying a word, Elliot turned and stepped slowly down the stairs. He felt as though he was operating on auto-pilot, even to breathe. Opening the front door, he motioned at the car for Maureen to come to him. Exiting the vehicle, she came closer.

"What's up, Dad? Where's Mom? We've been waiting—"

"Your mother isn't feeling well. I'm going to stay here with her."

"But Dad—"

"This isn't the time to argue, Maur. You go ahead to Grandma's and maybe we'll be by later, okay? I'm really sorry, honey. Please explain to Grandma, alright?"

Hesitating with disappointment, but knowing there was no point in discussing it further, Maureen nodded and gave him a hug.

"This is a crappy way to spend Thanksgiving," she complained as Elliot's arms wrapped around his eldest daughter.

"I know, honey. But we've got to make the most of it." Walking her back to the car, he ducked down to Kathleen's open window. "Mom and I are staying here until she's feeling better. Maureen's driving you to Grandma's and she's in charge. Don't give her too much grief, okay guys? And help your grandmother with the meal and dishes."

Unison complaints drifted from the back of the SUV where Liz and Dickie sat. Kathleen merely opened her door from the back so she could switch seats to the front passenger.

"Whatever, Dad. Nothing else has been like a normal family for years. Why start now?" Rolling her eyes at him with exasperation, she slammed her door shut before he could try to explain.

When he was sure the SUV had cleared the corner and he was out of his children's sight, he sat on the front stoop already feeling drained from a conversation that was yet to be had.

_This can't be happening_, he thought. _There is _no_ way I watched that child grow in her belly for the past eight months and not know it wasn't mine. It's not true. It can't be true. She's just had too much. She's finally broken, gone over the edge._

Continuing his denial, he decided to return to the bedroom in an attempt to bring her back.


	14. Chapter 14: WORTH THE RISK

He didn't get through the front door before he saw her. Kathy was coming down the last three stairs with his gym bag strapped over her shoulder. The obvious weight of it, as well as her pregnant belly, caused her to carry it awkwardly, turning her body and lifting her right side in an effort to balance herself. She breathed heavily as she let it drop to the wooden floor with a light "thud". Then she sat on the second to last step and looked up at him without saying a word.

He stared at her, willing her to continue the conversation she'd started upstairs. When it was apparent she was game to stare him down, he turned his attention to the orange bag.

"So what's this? We're not even going to talk about it before you throw me out?"

"They're _my_ things in there, not yours."

"Are we going to pretend nothing has happened as you leave me?"

"I'm not leaving you. And we will talk. But I know that when we're done, you're not going to want me here anymore."

"Why don't you let me decide how I feel?" Noticing his tone was turning angry, Elliot tried to suspend his emotions. He knew Kathy was already on edge and ready to bolt without even discussing her so-called confession. He had to keep himself in check. Help her feel that she could trust him with whatever had been bothering her for the past few weeks. Squeezing the back of his neck with his hand, he looked up and sighed, as if summoning divine intervention. _This cannot be happening, God_. _Please don't let this happen. That baby _**is** _mine._

Taking a deep breath, he kneeled to Kathy's level and took her hands in his. She concentrated on keeping her eyes fixed downward. Away from his baby blue eyes and instead on her wedding ring, which turned out to be just as accusing.

"I've tried to give you the space that you need. But I'm tired, Kath. Worn down. So now I need something from you."

She looked at him finally, curious what he would ask for.

"I need you to trust me. I need you to tell me the truth." Gently tugging at her arms, he assisted her to a standing position and guided her to the couch. They sat there, at the bay window. Her at one end, as far pressed against the back of the couch as possible, and he in the middle cushion. Far enough away that he felt she could open up but close enough to encourage her to do so.

"What you said upstairs…it wasn't true was it?"

Kathy turned her face to the window. The sun was shining outside, but she could still see her reflection in the glass. What she saw disgusted her.

"I can't handle lying to you anymore, Elliot. I thought I could, for the sake of our family, but it's killing me, I think."

"Lying about what?"

"The baby." Making eye contact that was fierce in its admission and determined to see it through, she said it again, which proved to be even more painful for Elliot to hear than the first time. "I lied about the baby."

Standing up from frustration, Elliot spoke with his arms extended, waving wildly with each word he spoke. "What are you saying? That she's not mine? I don't believe you—we made love!"

"We didn't make love, Elliot. We had _sex_. There's a big difference." Stepping towards him in an effort to calm him from his rampage, she closed her eyes and pleaded, "Let me explain—you've got it all wrong—"

Elliot would have none of it. He put distance between them, seemingly repulsed by the very suggestion that this baby girl he'd fallen in love with might not be his. Kathy granted him his distance, knowing that he was about to implode with disbelief. "Whatever you want to call that night, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that the timing makes sense! I—"

Turning his back to Kathy, who had thought it best if she stayed on the couch, he walked over to the fireplace and reached his hands up to the mantle, as he choked out, "I already love her…" Hanging his head, he remembered the night he'd come home simply to check on the kids. Kathy had looked at him in that way. The way she'd looked in high school. Lonely. Innocent. Needing. And he'd needed someone that night, too. Anyone. So when she'd invited him in, he'd gone to her, telling himself that this was something they both needed just once, and then it would be over. They'd be okay with it because it one last thing they could do for each other before they finally went separate ways. But ever since Kathy had told him she was pregnant, he'd felt it. Felt the connection with that baby and never wondered for even a second if Kathy had slept with any other man during their separation. But then he remembered Dani. Remembered how at that time in his life he'd wanted to be with someone, how lonely he had been during that time Olivia had been gone. It had never occurred to him that maybe Kathy had had those feelings, too.

Keeping his position at the mantle, he asked her in a low voice, "If she's not mine, then who else? Who else could be her father?"

Curious how she'd suddenly become the stable one in this conversation, Kathy spoke firmly, but with caution. "You're putting words into my mouth. If you'll be quiet for one minute, I'll explain because you've grossly misunderstood me, Elliot. Now if you're finished jumping to conclusions—"

"I can't believe you slept with someone while we were married. Didn't you?" He said it more to convince himself than as a question to her. He was incredulous. Livid.

Taken back with his accusations and direct questions, she was furious at his hypocrisy and no longer cared to explain herself or her statement from the bedroom. "Why does it matter? It was long before that night you came over. I know it was wrong and I've lived with the guilt," Kathy said heatedly, but then grew quiet and small. She stood and tried to make him understand. "But _you've_ done wrong, too, Elliot. What about your _partner_?"

Turning to her, his face had become defensive, not for himself, but for Olivia. "How many times do we have to go through this? I have _never_ been with Olivia. She's my partner and friend, nothing more. _When_ are you going to let that go?"

"Elliot," Kathy touched his arm. "First of all, I wasn't talking about Olivia. I was talking about the other one. The Stunner."

Kathy felt some tension leave Elliot's muscles under her fingers as he realized who she meant. She also saw his eyes reveal that she was right. So he _had_ been the tall blonde _outside_ of work. She'd never really known until now, and while it stung, she knew she couldn't judge him, just as he had no right to judge her. She continued, "Secondly, you and I _both_ know that you and Olivia are _much_ more than friends."

He opened his mouth to stop her, but she interrupted him, sensing his rebuttal. "Don't bother denying it. To be honest, I think I've known longer than you have. And I know you have never acted upon your feelings for her, and I appreciate that. But don't you think it's time we both stopping living our lives for each other when we're not what the other really wants?"

"You don't want…?" Confused, and perhaps a bit hurt, Elliot softly pulled his arms from Kathy's grasp and sat on the couch.

"Elliot, I love you. And I know you love me. But, yes, I don't want you. Our love is the kind of love born out of living over twenty years together. We love each other out of mutual admiration and respect. We love out of gratitude for the beautiful children we have given each other and helped one another raise."

Seeing Elliot's expression soften, she pressed him to admit she was right. "Am I wrong in how I thought you felt?"

Elliot locked eyes with her and did his damnedest to deny it. But the charade was over. He had run out of energy to continue the fallacy. He simply hung his head down as he shook it in agreement.

Then he realized how off-track they had gotten from the origin of this conversation and the pit in his stomach grew tenfold.

"Up in the bedroom—if you know I'm the father, then why did you say you'd lied about the baby?"

Now it was Kathy's turn to look away in shame. The guilt in her face was so strong and painful, Elliot wanted to wrap his arms around the mother of his children and reassure her it was going to be alright. That he'd always be there for her, no matter what kind of relationship they had.

"I…What I meant was…" Seeing his eyes so intent on her words humbled the hell out of her. She dropped to her knees in front of him, already asking for his forgiveness. She rested her head on his lap as she tried to hold in the tears. She couldn't. "That night you came home, I watched you open the bedroom door to check on Lizzie and Kathleen. I saw the man I married. The man who wanted a family, even if it had come earlier than he'd planned. I saw the man who always took care of us." She choked on a sob.

"Go on," Elliot encouraged, after letting her cry for several minutes.

"It had been so long since anyone had taken care of me. All those years taking care of the kids at home, with you working long hours. I thought I'd might as well be single—I never saw my husband anyway. So I left you. But even with your hellish job, I never realized how much you truly did for us. I didn't realize how hard it would be to do it all on my own. Having a job _full-time_, being a single parent. I was tired of it. Elliot, I am so sorry! I am so ashamed of myself. I've never been so selfish!"

"Shh," Elliot stroked her hair. He hated seeing her like this. She was a good woman, a good person. "Kathy, you're one of the least selfish people I know. But I still don't understand."

"Then I'd heard Olivia had left and I found myself wondering if maybe then, we'd have a fighting chance. Maybe if her being gone would make your job less important to you, then maybe we could make it work. Maybe we wouldn't have to be alone anymore." Shuddering with a hard breath, she said, "Then, of course, you had your new partner, and I didn't want to interfere if you'd found someone that made you happy. And then Olivia…she came home, and I figured I'd blown my chance to win you back. But then I could tell things were different between the two of you. That you weren't as close. I want you to know I didn't plan this in advance, but when I saw my opportunity—"

"Plan what? What are you talking about?"

"The night you came to see the kids, while you were checking on them, it occurred to me that I was at a point in my cycle when I should have been ovulating. I knew the chances were good that if I could get you to stay, then…"

The light came on then and Elliot knew what she was trying to tell him. She'd seduced him. She wasn't just innocently lonely. She didn't see it as a one-night stand. She saw it as part of a plan.

"You _wanted_ to get pregnant. You knew you _could_ get pregnant," Elliot stilled, no longer touching her hair. His hands lay limp on either side of his legs.

Kathy lifted her head, still crying. "I didn't want to be alone anymore. And you never seemed happy alone, either, so I thought…Like I said, it wasn't premeditated or anything. But I realized the only way you were going to come back home was if there was a reason greater than ourselves. I thought if I could just get you to come home, then you'd remember the good times we'd had together and you'd change and stay because you wanted to, not because…El, I knew you'd do the honorable thing. I knew…"

"You manipulated me," Elliot nudged her so she no longer touched his legs. "You used me."

Sobbing into her hands, all Kathy could do was nod. He could hear her mumbling over and over, "I'm sorry, Elliot. I'm so sorry."

Desperately trying to keep control of his anger, his hands balled and flexed in a frantic pattern. "So tell me…when did you have your great change of heart? When did your conscience reappear? When did you suddenly decide your plan may not have been such a great idea?" He didn't even look her direction. He focused his eyes on the striped valance above the bay window.

"I felt guilty as soon as I left the station after asking you to come home. But it was after you'd actually moved back in that the guilt began to be unbearable. Especially because I could tell you were still so unhappy. And even though it took a long time to admit it to myself, I was still unhappy, too. I thought… I thought we'd have a fresh start. I didn't expect us to fight as much still. But then I talked to Father Bennion and he helped me realize that by getting pregnant, I didn't make our old problems disappear. Instead, I just added on another one."

_So that's why Father Bennion kept pressing me to talk to Kathy, _Elliot realized. It all made sense now. The good priest had a husband and wife complaining to him about the same problems and he knew that the only solution would be if they started talking to each other rather than to him. Elliot had to give Father Bennion credit—he was a wonderful priest, but an even better friend. He was loyal to The Church and agreed that divorce was a sin, but man enough to be able to see when the greater sin could come from staying in a marriage that was built on lies and was destructive to the souls of the parties entered in. Originally, Elliot had been confused when it seemed Father Bennion was almost encouraging him to end his marriage and pursue what would make him truly happy. But now he understood.

He was angry at Kathy for lying, for using him. But regardless of what her motives may have been, that night he had been a willing party and had taken just as much risk as she did towards getting pregnant. The only difference between them was _he_ wasn't responsible enough to give it a second thought and _she_ was lonely enough to hope for it. He could not hold her any more responsible for that new life than he was willing to hold himself.

Bending down and embracing her, they both cried for a long time. Finally, she dared to look at his face, and what she saw was absolution. His eyes told her she needn't feel guilty anymore. That he'd forgiven her of any wrong doing, just as he'd try to forgive himself.

They sat there, huddled together, sitting on the floor against the couch.

"So what now?" Elliot asked. "Could we be any more messed up?"

"I don't suppose so," Kathy said, trying to smile.

"I still want to be a part of her life," Elliot glanced at Kathy's round belly.

"You are her father, Elliot. She's yours just as much as she is mine. I would never take any of your children away from you," Kathy said, placing Elliot's hand on her swollen abdomen. "But…I do think it's time we stop pretending. Maybe I could go stay with my mother for a while."

"No. Not unless you want to. I'd prefer you stay here, in our home. Where you're comfortable. Let's try to keep as much stability for the kids as we can. God knows we've given them enough up and downs to last a lifetime. I'll find a place—"

"There's no rush, Elliot. If you want, you can wait until after the baby is born. Take your time."

"I'm not sure what I'll do. Let me think about it, huh?" He grasped her hand, giving it a squeeze. Kathy nodded her approval.

"One more thing. When do we tell the kids?" Kathy asked.

"I think we need to be honest with them from the start. I don't think they will be surprised. I think they've known for a while that things weren't good between us," Elliot remarked.

"Yeah, they had to have known with the way I've been acting lately—I'm sorry, Elliot. I must have made life beyond difficult this month."

"Well, it was hardest knowing you wouldn't come to me. I hated seeing you in such despair. I was worried."

"I know. And I know it was hard for the kids, too. I owe them an apology. And to tell you the truth, I think they'll actually be relieved we've finally come to terms on our relationship."

"Yeah. If you think the roller coaster was a nightmare for us, think of how it must have been for them."

Silence fell upon them as the two felt more comfortable with each other than they had in years. There was still so much to digest. So much to think about, but a veil had been lifted from the room and both of them were able to see things more clearly than ever. They now felt like friends, nearly best friends. Friends that would always be there for each other, be there for their kids, unified and loving. But able to move on in their own lives and find their own happiness.

Pulling himself off the hard floor and back onto the couch, Elliot reached down to help Kathy.

"Come sit up here—it's more comfortable."

Snuggling next to him, with his arm around her in a genuine gesture of friendship, Kathy reached for the remote that had been shoved down into the cushions. Turning on the television, she found the last half of a holiday movie and they watched it in a well-deserved, hard-earned peace.

"Do you…want to go over to your Mom's?" Elliot asked, as the movie's credits rolled across the screen.

"It's nearly nine-thirty. What's the point?" Kathy observed.

"Yeah, you're right. I'll call the kids to tell them they can come home whenever they'd like."

After speaking to Maureen on the phone, Elliot came out of the kitchen.

"Did you get a hold of them?" Kathy asked.

"Maureen says they'll be on the road within ten minutes. Just have to say their goodbyes to everyone," Elliot answered.

"Did you…tell her?"

"Over the phone?" Elliot's eyes got wide to think Kathy would assume he might not break news like that to his daughter in person. "No. We can tell them tomorrow."

"Of course. I don't know why I said that."

Picking up the orange bag, Elliot said, "I'll take this back upstairs. And if it's all the same to you, I'll think I'll sleep in the other room tonight, okay?"

Kathy slowly blinked and nodded her head. "Perhaps you're right. That might be best. I'll go up with you. I'm exhausted."

"Yeah, you go ahead and rest. I'll hang out down here until the kids get home."

-------------

Early the next morning, Elliot and Kathy were on edge as they prepared to share with their children the latest development in their family. Anticipating harsh words and criticism, they were comforted to find the kids seemingly unaffected.

Maureen simply smiled, and Dickie piped up, "Is this divorce for real this time?"

Kathleen rolled her eyes and said, "It's about time you got yourselves figured out. Am I going to have to move?"

"No," Elliot reassured his kids. "You'll stay in the house with Mom and I'll move out."

"Again," Lizzie reinforced.

"Yes, again," Elliot said, almost embarrassed.

"Well, now that we've got this all settled, can I get a ride to Nicole's?"

"Kathleen!" Maureen called her sister on her tactless behavior.

"What? We already knew this was coming and now that it has, we can all get on with the business of living, right?"

"I think this morning, I'd like us to all eat breakfast together as a family," Kathy stated, gently guiding Kathleen back to her seat at the table.

"But we're not a family," Dickie protested calmly.

"Yes, we are," Kathy firmly announced. "No matter what, we are still a family. Maybe not the conventional one, but your father is still your father and I'm your mother. And no matter what happens between us," sweeping her hand back and forth between her and Elliot, "we still love and care for each other. And most of all, we love all of you. I want you to be very clear on that. Got it?"

Tunes of "Got it, Mom" came in almost unison as Kathy stood with her hands on her hips, waiting for her children to acknowledge their understanding.

"Good. Now, how do waffles sound?"

"Sounds great, Mom," Maureen smiled as she stood. "But you've had a long week. Let me do them."

"What a great idea, Maur," Elliot noted, proudly. "Kathy, you sit down and we'll do the work."

"Um, Dad? Last time you made waffles you beat all the fluffiness out of the egg whites. You sit down, too. We want _good_ waffles, so Maureen will make them."

"Well, don't hold anything back—tell me how you really feel about my cooking," Elliot sat, feigning hurt. "That's fine with me, but the rest of you have to help."

"Like what?" Dickie whined.

This time Kathy stepped in. "Dickie, why don't you set the table? Kathleen, there's some strawberries in the fridge—will you cut them up, please? And Liz, how about making some orange juice? There are a couple cans in the freezer."

Elliot watched his family work together the kitchen and felt a warmth come over him. For the first time, he felt like even though he and Kathy were separating, it didn't mean he'd have to be separated from his children. For the first time, he felt secure in their decision and knew he no longer had to worry about keeping his family in tact. He knew that no matter what happened between he and Kathy, they both had something in common: that their children continue to know their family as they always had—loving, united, and loyal.

The family ate a delicious breakfast together, laughing—more freely than they had in a while. Could it be that his and Kathy's decision to end their marriage had been a relief to his children? Of course, he realized. What child would have wanted to continue to live in a home where tension was always high and the adults were so unhappy? He almost felt as though he and Kathy had been brave to risk being honest with each other. Turned out it was already blessing their family in positive ways.

He almost had to laugh at how the remainder of the morning passed. It was not how he'd imagined a family freshly-told of the parents divorcing would have behaved. It was ironically…normal. Everyone helped clean up the kitchen and then the kids were upstairs showing and hanging out in their rooms.

Kathy came down just as Elliot was leaving for work.

"Will you be home tonight after work?" she asked as he put on his suit coat.

"Uh…I'm not sure, to be honest. I need to think about things first. In ways, I'd like to stay here if you need help before the baby, but I also wonder if it's a mistake to postpone it. It will be a big change for the kids."

"Maybe it would be best to do it now. Like ripping off a band-aid. But that doesn't mean you have to leave tonight."

"I know, but I want some time to myself. And I also need to find an apartment—preferably close to work, I think. So maybe I'll stay in the city tonight and look when I get off work."

"Okay." Squeezing his hand, Kathy closed her goodbyes with, "Be careful, El."

Leaning in, Elliot gave Kathy a kiss on the cheek. For the first time in a while, he didn't do it out of obligation. He had a genuine wish to show her how much he cared and that he was glad she was in his life. She smiled at the gesture as she shut the door behind him.

-----------

Elliot arrived at work just in time to see a suspect in handcuffs being taken into the Interrogation room by Fin. He thought the suspect looked familiar. He just couldn't place him.

"Who is that?" he asked Munch.

"Ah, that my friend, is someone we've been saving just for you: Mr. Dwight Peabody."

Elliot looked at him quizzically.

Munch continued. "Early this morning, we caught a break on the Sterling case."

Elliot was floored. "The Sterling case? What kind of break? Ryan Sterling was raped over eight months ago. We didn't have any solid leads, except that whomever assaulted him had stolen his father's pocket watch."

"And that's what led us to his doorstep. Turns out Mr. Peabody got a little greedy and tried to trade the watch for a night with a prostitute. Only problem is he tried to buy from an undercover cop. The boys down at vice caught wind of the watch and remembered Ryan's case."

_Will miracles never cease_, Elliot thought to himself. Ryan Sterling had been raped, sodomized, and beaten within an inch of his life. The case had kept Elliot up for weeks as he recalled Ryan's bruised and swollen body and face. The worst part had been his inability to live up to his promise to Ryan that they would "find this guy". After three months of nothing, Elliot finally had to admit to a pressing Ryan that they had investigated every possible lead and didn't know what move to make next. He tried to convince Ryan not to give up; that the detectives at SVU would push on and that Ryan would be notified first of any progress in the case. However, within twenty-four hours, Ryan's body had been found hanging from a rope in his closet rod. Elliot would forever be haunted by the demons Ryan had faced and what Elliot felt was his personal failure to bring Ryan some justice. He wanted a piece of this Peabody, and he wanted it now.

"Fin's in there with Dwight?" Elliot asked.

Munch saw the pupils in Elliot's eyes darken and he knew it could only mean one thing. That Elliot was ready to interrogate, but that he was also a loose cannon, unstable and ready to blow any second.

"Yeah, they're just waiting for you, man. Here's the file of evidence we've got against this guy. Look over it and go get him. Get him for Ryan." Tossing Elliot the file, Munch almost felt sorry for any perp that had to sit across the interrogation table from Detective Stabler.

-------

Olivia felt like she'd been giving herself a pep talk all morning. She didn't know why, but she was nervous for today. Perhaps because it had been such a long time since she'd participated in any kind of holiday festivities with anyone she'd call family. And of course, with her mother, there was always the elephant in the room. The proverbial history, their origins, how the two women were brought together in this life to begin with. Celebrations were happy, but never relaxed. Never too comfortable or what Olivia felt like they should be: familiar. Natural. She worried today with Simon and Lucy would feel the same way. Yet on the other hand, she was excited and hopeful to be proven wrong. She felt like she and Simon had been given a fresh start ever since he'd gotten married, and she was anxious to establish a relationship with him not unlike the same relationships she'd seen her college roommates have with their siblings. This was her chance and she wasn't about to blow it.

She took her time getting ready. She wanted everything to be just right. She wasn't sure what to wear—if she should dress casually, hoping to convey through her attire and attitude her hopes for a close, easy relationship. Or should she dress formally, showing respect for his invitation and the ritual of the holiday meal and preparations? She finally decided on something in between, but erring on the side of formal caution. Laying out her clothes while her bath water was running, she chose a pleasing pair of black flat-front flare leg pants. She loved the way they flowed on her body and felt she'd be dressy, but comfortable. Her top was a wine-colored blouse, with a wide boatneck opening, which she'd accent with a stylish wrap. She'd been given the wrap as a gift from her mother the Christmas before she passed. Olivia loved it—it was light as a feather, deliciously silky, and fabulously red. Bands of sheer burgundy organza alternated with crimson raw silk, giving it dramatic contrast and texture. It was wonderfully eight feet long, so she was able to wrap it around her shoulders and still have oodles to hang gracefully below.

After her bath, she decided she'd didn't want to get dressed before she made the salad she'd offered to bring. She didn't want to risk getting the clothes dirty. So she put on her black underwear and silk strapless bra and a robe as she tore the lettuce greens and chopped the vegetables. Seeing as how she had a good two hours before she needed to leave, she blow dried her hair and then curled up on her couch to relax.

Within seconds, however, the happy, eager feelings left her as her eye spotted the photo album she'd assembled during her time off after the attack. Her mind immediately went to the newspaper clipping Elliot had picked off her floor. She thought of Elliot, who must have sat with his family yesterday—his wife—at the dinner table and carved the turkey. He, the head of a household she would never become a part of, had probably led his family in prayer as they held hands around the table. She imagined Kathy sitting next to him, squeezing his hand as he thanked God for their bounteous blessings. She wondered if Kathy ever noticed that Elliot's left pinky was the tiniest crooked at the top joint. She wondered if Kathy had ever noticed the way Elliot tapped his shins against the chair legs when he was concentrating. These were traits Olivia had memorized about Elliot, along with about a million other things. You couldn't spend that much time with a person and not pick up on these things. At least not someone like Elliot.

Suddenly, Olivia felt melancholy. She didn't want to be around people. Not if those people couldn't be Elliot. She considered calling Simon and making up an excuse. But she knew it would break her brother's heart and that was something she was unwilling to do, no matter how selfish and sorry she was feeling.

----------------------------------------

Splashing the cold water onto his skin, Elliot angrily rubbed his face until it stung. Blindly reaching for the faucet handle, he shut off the water and grabbed a stiff paper towel, holding it tightly against his eyes. He could feel a deep, pulsating headache announcing its arrival in the front of his skull. He knuckles were still red, and beginning to feel tender from the force he'd propelled them with into Dwight's face.

Elliot didn't want to open the door to leave the bathroom. He'd have to face his coworkers, whom he knew would be so _obviously_ trying to _not_ appear obvious as they pretended to not notice him leaving. Just a few minutes ago, his coworkers had been at a standstill as they listened to their captain berate one of the department's most seasoned detectives. It wasn't anything new for them to see, and yet they continued, just as all the other times, to stop their current activities and conversations, not wanting to draw attention from Cragen to themselves, lest his rebuttal had leftovers he was willing to dish out to others.

"Don't bother coming back until you're ready to play detective the _right _way," Cragen had barked. "Get this rage under check, Stabler, or I'll report you _myself_. Now get out of here."

Elliot couldn't blame Don. He knew he'd gone overboard with that dickhead Peabody. But he just couldn't help it—seeing Dwight's face develop a smirk as Fin tossed pictures of the deceased Ryan Sterling taken from the bitter metal table in Warner's morgue. Peabody had continued to deny any involvement in Ryan's rape, but the satisfaction in his eyes gave himself away. Elliot couldn't take it any more and had lunged for Dwight, grabbing his shirt collar and tossing him across the room. Dragging himself across the floor and into the corner, Peabody hadn't seemed fazed. Instead he'd just started laughing uncontrollably and it was more than Elliot could bear. Over and over in his mind, he saw Ryan's face—first alive and weeping, as he had been in the hospital room; and then gray and cold, the purple contusions a tragic ring around his neck left behind by the thin rope he'd used to hang himself. Elliot had punched Peabody then, breaking his nose and spraying blood over the wall. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that the only reason Elliot didn't keep punching Dwight until he no longer moved was thanks to Fin, who'd had to exert every fragment of muscle power to pry Elliot away from the over-confident criminal.

Elliot was moving sinuously, only stopping for his coat and keys as he left the bullpen. Cragen opened the blinds of his office, observing Elliot's well-rehearsed departure after a scuffle with a suspect. He had watched the interview from behind the glass and secretly taken a small amount of pleasure as he'd seen Dwight Peabody's form first rise into the air and then fall onto the concrete flooring with a fitting _thud_. But he knew that as the leader of this department, no exception could be made and Elliot had to be put in his place, otherwise they risked the entire case being blown on police brutality. Now the captain closed his blinds, as he wondered where Elliot would go mid-day, but thinking he had a pretty good idea.

Elliot wasn't sure himself where he would go, but for some reason wasn't surprised when he found himself once again at St. Anne's. Being Catholic was no coincidence in his life, he decided. Somehow he was wired for this stuff. For confessionals and culpability. The gray stone church was part of him, like a homing beacon.

He met Father Bennion in the confessional and they had a long talk. They started about Elliot's job, and Elliot was convinced by the old man that he should express remorse to God for using physical force upon another human being. Then Elliot told Father Bennion about his conversation with Kathy and the enlightenment he had felt.

"The funny thing is, Father, that you'd think all the drama and confessions would make me feel weighed down. Burdened."

Father Bennion finished Elliot's thoughts. "But instead, you feel free. Content."

"Yeah. I wouldn't have expected that."

"My child, the truth is always liberating. Remember, there are no secrets from God. So for us to try to hide things from Him only creates a prison within ourselves. It is through prayer, gratitude, humility, and confessing our sins that we become closer to _Him_, who ultimately unlocks the gates and sets us free."

They sat in silence for a moment while Elliot contemplated the priest's wisdom.

Father Bennion spoke again. "And…how is your partner? Do you think you have resolved any issues you may have had with her?"

Elliot closed his eyes and rested his head against the thin wall behind him. "Olivia." Breathing deeply through his nose he could practically feel her soft lips against his as he did that night in her apartment. And then it hit him. He and Kathy were over. For good. And wasn't it _Kathy_ who had forced him to admit—admit to _her_, his current_ wife_—how he felt about Olivia? Wasn't it Kathy who had urged them to stop pretending they were what the other wanted? Kathy had known. She _knew_ he loved Olivia and yet, she was okay. He didn't have to feel guilty anymore. "I haven't resolved anything _**with**_ Olivia, per se. But _**about**_ her…uh, yeah. I guess I just did." Gathering his coat that lay on his lap, Elliot paused, his eyes downward in thought. "Excuse me, Father, but I think I have somewhere else I need to be."

"Um, Elliot, before you go running off—"

"Yes, Father?"

"Do you think just once we could end one of your confessions the proper way, without you running out on me?"

Elliot could hear the smile in Father Bennion's voice, and that made him smile as well.

"Of course, Father. I'm sorry." Elliot bowed his head and expressed an Act of Contrition as he made the sign of the cross. "O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended you and I detest all my sins. Most of all because I have offended you, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve with the help of your grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life. Amen."

Father Bennion closed by saying, "Give thanks to the Lord for He is good."

"For His mercy endures forever," Elliot responded. "Listen, uh…?"

"Yes, Elliot?"

Elliot paused, wanting Father Bennion to know the sincerity of his words. "Thank you. You've helped me more than you'll ever know."

"You're welcome, my child. Now isn't there somewhere you were planning on going?"

But the priest never received a response. The confessional was already empty, and Father Bennion knew exactly where Elliot would be going.

----------------------

Pulling up to her building, Elliot hesitated only for a moment as he debated the wisdom in what he was about to do. Maybe she wasn't home. Or maybe she was and wouldn't want him, just like Kathy. Maybe this was too fast. _Nine years too fast_. But thinking of everything he might miss out on if he didn't take this chance, a warmth filled his chest and he was reassured she was worth the risk.

Opening the door, he smiled at an elderly woman who was collecting her mail. Seeing that she was having a difficult time holding her stack of mail as she tried to bend down and pull the remaining envelopes from her box, Elliot stopped to offer his assistance.

"May I?" Elliot indicated his willingness to retrieve the rest of the mail.

"Oh, yes, please. That would be most helpful," she responded. Her eyes were kind and trustworthy. She looked over the tall man. My, he was handsome. Obviously in great shape and with a smile that seemed more sincere than most. Perhaps he didn't smile often? Betty studied the good Samaritan and determined she could very well see that about him. That he didn't smile often, so when he did, it must be golden and genuine. The most noticeable feature he sported, however, was his aquatic eyes. They made her recall the deep pools around the geysers she'd seen at Yellowstone on her first honeymoon. "My name is Betty. Do you live here in the building?"

Elliot stood straight to place the last piece of mail onto the small pile in Betty's arms. "No. I, uh, I'm just visiting a friend."

"Oh, well, perhaps we'll run into each other again some time. And thank you for helping me."

"I'm happy I could help. Are you okay carrying that?"

"Oh, yes. I love getting the mail. It's nice to know someone is thinking of you, even if it might just be the bill companies."

"Well, have a nice day then," Elliot spoke politely as he turned to leave up the staircase.

-----------------------------

Finished with the final touches on her makeup, Olivia turned out the bathroom light and shut her bedroom door. Doing her best to stop thinking of Elliot, although ever since he'd crossed her mind an hour ago she hadn't had much luck, she turned the small black knob on the floor lamp next to the couch and prepared to leave. Tossing the silk wrap around her shoulders, she grabbed her purse, tucking it underneath her right arm, and finally took the salad from the refrigerator. Just as she twisted the door knob, someone from the other side began to knock.

When she the doorway was opened, she blinked in astonishment. He was the last person she expected to see this holiday weekend. She took in his appearance, as she sought any form of stability—the door became her anchor.

Something was different about him. He was wearing his suit, indicating he had been at work—which confused her, because today _was_ his day to work. Why wasn't he there now? But his tie had been removed and the first three buttons on his shirt had been opened. She blinked slowly, commanding herself to stop thinking about the hard chest and the strong heart that beat under the thin grey fabric.

It was his eyes…that was the difference. The abyss had changed and they seemed lighter. Bright. Almost azure. At least at first glance. The outer ring of his pupil was lighter, as though he wasn't as weighed down. Something had definitely changed.

She wanted to ask him why he was here. Why he wasn't with his wife. She wanted to tell him she was just leaving. But she couldn't. She dared not speak. She didn't need to. They stared at each other for long moments, communicating like they used to through their gaze. And then she saw it. The light blue ring in his eyes seemed to darken. They reminded her of the violet-blue tanzanite jewelry that hung from the small peg in her jewelry box. She knew what that change was. She'd seen it before. It was yearning.

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Elliot had stood outside her door, trying to summon the courage to knock. Then he'd heard it. Footsteps. In heels. How he loved her long legs in heels! And from the sounds of it, it was coming from her kitchen. She was home. She was there. And the _only_ thing between them now was two inches of door. That was it. Nothing else had to stand in their way, except themselves. And together, he believed they could overcome their fears and finally be together. So he did it. He knocked.

She'd answered immediately, as though she'd been anticipating his coming. But then he saw her, with her purse and a dark green ceramic bowl covered in plastic wrap, and he realized she was on her way to Simon's. He wanted to explain why he wasn't at work. Why he was so excited to see her. But his mouth failed him.

He couldn't speak. She was too much. Too beautiful. Too perfect. She had dressed up for dinner, obviously. The dark red shirt and scarf-thing she was wearing matched her lipstick perfectly. He couldn't take his eyes off her mouth. The way it was partially open, as though she was trying to say something but didn't know how. He looked at her eyes, shadowed in dark makeup that somehow did the impossible—it made the brown in her eyes black. They were open wide, blinking occasionally. Blinking so slowly, as though she was taunting him with those forever eyelashes.

Reaching into her umber eyes, Elliot tried communicating with her. Never taking his focus off of her, his lips bent upward in the tiniest of smiles. He knew that she'd seen it and that she knew what he was saying. He wanted her to know that she was the most amazing woman in the world. That the way he'd seen her help victims and other people around her, all the while putting her own needs on hold made her unparalleled. That he never knew her kind of beauty existed until he'd met her. That her exotic features had haunted his dreams for endless nights and he was ready to do whatever he could to make her dreams come true as well. That he was ready to take the next step, and he wasn't afraid of the risk, because seeing her face and reading her body language told him that if she could just not be afraid, there would be no risk. They were meant for this, for each other. But now that he was here, it was her move to make next. His arms ached with need to hold her against his body, but he had to be invited in. She had to _want_ him to come closer, to be near him, to be with him.

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Finally topping the stairs, Betty heaved a thick breath of relief. Living this high up could be difficult sometimes, but the rent couldn't be beat and deep down she was grateful for the way it forced her and her husband to push themselves a bit and get some exercise. Turning down the hallway, she was surprised to see her Good Samaritan from the lobby. And even more surprised to see him in front of her neighbor's door. She'd never seen Olivia had company, aside from the delivery boys with pizza or Chinese. Betty noticed the man knock just as Olivia opened the door.

For a split second, Betty felt a twinge of guilt, wondering if it was polite for her to be watching, but she wanted to make sure Olivia would be okay. Besides, the couple was mesmerizing, and they didn't seem to notice her presence anyway. They were a curious pair—Betty watched, captivated by their silent exchange. Neither voiced a word verbally, but the heated glances they offered one another were heavy with history and spoke volumes. It was then that Betty realized this man could have the identity of only one possible person. This had to be _him_. Olivia's _Elliot_. Just like Betty's Saul from what seemed ages ago, and yet just yesterday.

Fascinated, Betty squinted for a better look. She saw the man shift his weight as he gripped the doorway with both hands, as though he had to do _something_ with them. As though letting them simply hang at his sides was unthinkable. Their eye contact never faltered, but Betty could sense a change. From the side, it was difficult to know for sure, but Betty thought she saw this _Elliot_ give a small smile. His breathing quickened, as she examined his chest heaving with longing and hope.

When Olivia had first opened the door, Betty could see the surprise on her face. In a matter of seconds, it had shown a range of emotion. First surprise, then confusion, as though Olivia was studying an Elliot she'd never seen before. Finally, it settled on a look of need, a look of love. Betty was familiar with that look. She'd had it herself once. Of course, with the two men she'd married, but particularly with one man that ironically she'd never had. She'd only experienced that kind of passion and craving for Saul.

After Elliot had given his decisive, but conservative, smile, Olivia's look went again to surprise—whatever Elliot was communicating to her with his telling revelation had obviously not been what Olivia had been expecting. And then Betty saw it. Olivia showed _relief_. She watched as Olivia's eyes filled with tears. She saw Olivia fight to keep them from spilling down her cheeks by concentrating on breathing deeply through her nose.

Elliot cocked his head to the side, as if asking permission. Betty heard Olivia's feet shuffle just a quarter inch as she pushed the door she'd been securely gripping _open_ to its full-width. Betty couldn't take her eyes off Olivia's face as Elliot cautiously stepped through the threshold, reaching for the green bowl and leather clutch in Olivia's arms. He took the bowl with his hands, but his eyes still held Olivia's. Betty couldn't see behind Olivia, but when she heard the sound, she knew Elliot had just placed the bowl and purse onto the kitchen counter. She watched Elliot step back towards Olivia, but remaining behind her.

Olivia continued to stay fast in her doorway position, as though she was struggling to wrap her mind around what was happening. Elliot came close behind her but never touched her. Betty wondered what he was going to do next. Leaning in, he whispered something into Olivia's ear, which caused her eyes to go wide before blinking. A blink from which her eyes did not open until she'd sucked in a deep breath through her glossed lips. Her cheeks became flushed and pink. Still, she did not move.

Elliot then reappeared in front of Olivia, and Betty's heart was moved as she saw Elliot extend a hand towards Olivia. It was the first time Olivia looked down—her brow furrowing as though she was trying to read Elliot's palm. Then she looked up again, her eyes showing nothing but trust and desire, as she lifted her own hand, placing her long fingers in the safe alcove of Elliot's warm and gentle grip.

And then it was over. They were nearly out of Betty's view because Elliot had stretched his right leg behind him, hooking the open door with his foot and leisurely closing the gap in the opening. Just before the last sliver of light was shut out from Olivia's apartment, Betty witnessed a moment so sacred that it finally caused her to turn away—even before the shut door would have. Elliot had reached up with his free hand and touched Olivia's face, tenderly tracing his fingertips down her cheek until they reached her quivering chin. Olivia's eyes closed in anticipation. Using his fingertips to tilt her chin upward, his face leaned into hers. And that's when Betty turned around, out of respect. The door gave its final "click", indicating that the moment was not only long overdo, but private and belonging only to them.

**"The End", or shall I say "****The **_**Beginning"?**_

_**A/N: Well, this is it folks. Elliot and Olivia have finally found each other and I leave it to your imaginations to complete what happens next. Thanks for all the great reviews. I'm humbled, because although it was fun to write this, it was a lot of hard work. I appreciate even more now the stories that are so well-written and woven together. As for myself, it sure didn't seem to come very easily and I know that you were very generous in your kind words. Thanks for a fun ride! **_


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